


In A Small Town I Saw You

by zouee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Childhood Friends, Drug Use, Friends to Strangers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, References to Depression, Slightly Referenced Eating Disorders, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Unrequited Love, seriously just don’t read this if you don’t wanna read about zayn being sad, the mother of all slow burn, this is basically a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 113,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouee/pseuds/zouee
Summary: It must be the shock, it must be Louis trying to process this just how Zayn’s trying to, too. At least, this is what he convinces himself of. 
He swallows, tries not to bite the inside of his cheek in frustration. Because Zayn knows him. He knows how Louis reacts, he knows his face is incapable of concealment, knows he’s unable to bite his tongue. But yet here he is, face completely barred from any emotion besides politeness, a small smile he gives acquaintances, strangers, and he’s not saying anything at all. 
And that’s it. He doesn’t remember him. 
The realisation rips his heart out.





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> TO ALL MY ORIGINAL READERS: this work is staying i swear !!!! if you would like to re-read this version then please do! otherwise, i'll notify you when i have updated up to the part where i stopped writing from the original. so i decided to re-write this entire mess because i was stuck at a stand-still and absolutely nothing was happening with it. i've basically kept the storyline in tact, but a few things have changed as in: the sequence of how things happen, the characters and how they work within this, a few scenes taken away or added in. PLEASE FORGIVE ME ! this must be annoying to whoever was waiting for an update and instead got thrown right back to the start ahhaha. but honestly, this version i've enjoyed soooo much more and i'm actually happy with how it's turned out :--) i just hope you like it too !!!

_Zayn_

Applause is minimal, non-existent. Genuine, physical sounds of encouragement unheard. It leaves an awkward tone in its wake after the final note of an electric guitar vibrates through the room. Sometimes he’ll get an applause, maybe a half-hearted hoot or two, depending where it is in the night and if there’s a drunken haze in the audience’s eyes. 

He sometimes wonders if he’s even heard, even appreciated. He looks over the heads of the patrons, his neighbours. They don’t meet his gaze; too transfixed on the bottoms of their fifth glass, their old friend they’ve known for years, the backs of their eyelids.  

It never used to be like this. They once roared with grins on their faces, thankful for the newcomer that could provide decent entertainment, with new music and a live-action set right in front of their eyes, a refreshing difference to the old radio they used for music. It got old fast, after three weeks to be certain. Instead of grins and clapping he’d get a handful of thumbs-up’s and light words of praise.  

Now, it’s like he’s a passing ghost, performing to a pack of bored souls that don’t acknowledge the words he sings. 

He doesn’t mind, though, not at all. 

He found this place when he was mentally and physically unstable and lost. He’s been those for a while — not cured just yet, doesn’t think he ever will be — for a year and a bit, now, or maybe longer. He used to keep track of the days precisely since he left his hometown, used to scratch it into his notebook with a pen that was short of ink. But then he lost said notebook on a bus from his journey to and from different parts of the city and he didn’t bother buying a new one, accepting that time means nothing anymore.  

So, when he found this place he’d been lost and unstable yet when he was proposed to perform for money to pay for his rent he’d accepted willingly, sung with up-tempo guitar riffs, a smile on his face to keep the town alive, to get them to like him. Since then, he’s now lost the interest of them all. Since now, he’s able to comfortably write about what he wants, what he feels. Able to sing with the depressing tone that constantly circles his mind — a creative outlet.  

“Are you… like, okay? Up there?” One of the townies had asked him after the forth night of moping, resembling a wolf that howls at the moon.  

“Of course, yeah,” He had replied, lying through his canine teeth and fixed it with a smile, “Nothing to be sad about, is there?”

Not in this town, there’s not. Not in this old, deserted, population of nothing town. Everyone’s a family, everyone helps each other, everyone has grown up and had families of their own, haven’t moved for generations and haven’t seen the life outside of this little, barely-a-town town called Hillside. A town that, realistically, nobody knows.  

He’d stumbled upon it on complete fluke. He’d meant to be heading towards Yorkshire, just barely touching the outskirts of it. It had been a wild, stormy night (because isn’t it always?) and he’d been driving down the long outstretch of road. He knows this road; spent far too many hours and far too many miles with residue in his eyes and pain in his heart, coasting down with nothing in his view aside from dirt and trees. The first time he travelled down it, his mind was fog and his intentions were none other than to, quite simply, get the fuck out. The second time he travelled down it, it was the opposite direction, and his stomach was crying for food and all he wanted to do was enter a field of familiarity; to test whether or not being close to his hometown would spike anxiety or give him an overwhelming feeling of home.  

He never got there, is the thing.  

The roads were slippery and his windshield was covered in sheets of rain and he couldn’t see a thing, nothing at all. He’d be lying if he said the deja vu didn’t make him want to keep driving, to feel the adrenaline, to feel _something_. The thought, the memory in the back of his mind caused him to clench the steering wheel in two hands, knuckles turning as white as his bones, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.   

Some say time heals all wounds. He scoffs at that saying, laughs at it so loud people turn their heads. “How much time?” He’d ask, to himself, to those that would listen, to the sky as he shouts. “Is two years enough?” It was a guess, of course, but he always knew when, roughly, when Christmas rolled around, when the world is collectively happy and when he drowns himself in cheap liquor and chopped cocaine. “All wounds are different, you know.” He’d slur, mostly. If he got this far in his monologue he’s usually half-awake, half-lidded. “Some cut deeper than others, some heal by themselves, some need stitches.” He’d laugh, then, a sound that would make whomever was listening either laugh, too, out of pity, out of nervousness, or they’d look at him with that sympathy in their eyes — always _fucking_ sympathetic. “Some bleed out, don’t they?” He’d ask, not expecting an answer, “Some never heal at all.” 

That’s how he feels. He’s living, he’s existing, he’s breathing — but his bones and his skin and his muscles feel like some sort of shell, some sort of case that’s caging in a deadly gash right in the middle of where his heart lays.  

He’s wounded, and time can fuck itself.  

But it’s a saying that, despite himself, he keeps close. It’s one little phrase that keeps him optimistic. Because maybe it’ll take all the time in the world, maybe when he’s seventy and his bones are breaking, his mind a little slow, maybe then he’ll be forgiven. Maybe then he’ll get to see him and everything will be okay. It’s far-fetched and it’s so wildly unrealistic but it’s the only thing keeping him from self-destruction. And it’s this phrase _time heals all wounds_ that made him park on the side of the road on that stormy night, made him take a break, made him sleep in until the morning.   

When he awoke, he found Hillside.

And now he’s here, placing his electric guitar back into its case with ease as the bar he’s in starts closing up. It’s around midnight and the night-life has ended. He guesses that’s what happens when the demographic is mostly middle-aged people and children.  

“It was a bit more lively tonight, wasn’t it?” 

It’s a joke, a lame one at that, but it comes from someone that’s taken him underneath his wing the whole time he’s been here, the only one that’s looked out for him and made sure he’s never completely lonely or bored. So, Zayn returns it with a light chuckle, eyes cast downwards, clicking closed his case.  

“Wanna pint?” Anthony continues, smiling. He’s standing at the side of the stage, looking up at Zayn with a knowing expression, almost as though the question comes as something routine more than anything. And Zayn nods in response, meeting his eyes and giving him a tight-lipped smile.  

The beer’s are always free whenever he plays. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t drink much, doesn’t waste much, since the bar shuts when he finishes and maybe it’s just tradition now, something he and Anthony started when they had first met.  

“You’re quite good, mate. Like, really quite good.” Anthony had told him, shock in his voice. He looks much like Zayn, in a way, but with smaller eyes and a bigger nose. “Let me shout you a beer, yeah? I work here, so, like, I call the shots.” He had laughed, Zayn had merely blinked. “Y’know, figuratively _and_ realistically.”  

“Yeah, okay.” Zayn had replied, shrugging one shoulder. Who was he to pass up free piss? The last time he had scored something for free was because the man at the bar was taking him home. Zayn’d shivered at the memory. 

He and Anthony had sat down at one of the two booths, the leather starting to shred on the seats and the wood of the tabletops so worn down you’d be sure it could break. Zayn placed his glass on it wearily. 

“So, what’s ya story, then?” Anthony had asked, popping a cashew nut into his mouth from where he had a stash in his hand. “What brings you to the good old, lively, absolutely breathtaking Hillside? You don’t look much like a country boy, to be honest with you.” 

Zayn had inspected the beer in front of him, tried his hardest not to swallow it in one go. He tried to formulate an answer many times, each time failing him. He couldn’t tell him the truth, not just yet. It’s not like the city where he can bare his bones and his soul to someone, then leave them the next day only to find another couch to sleep on. No, here, he had to be careful. Here, he had to be liked.  

“Nothin’ wrong with change.” Is what he’d settled on, flicking his eyes up to meet those opposite after he’d said it, finality in his tone.  

Anthony had waited for something more, anything, but eventually he’d looked elsewhere, shifted in his seat, and shrugged at nothing in particular. “No, yeah, I mean, I get that.” He said, curling a hand around his own beer as Zayn took his first sip. “But, like, also, _man_ ,” He sighs, shakes his head, a shadow of a smile forming, “I’m being real with you right now, you have, like, an insane voice. Like, record-breaking…” 

Zayn had shaken his own head, eyes down, a modest smile of his own, “No, no…” 

“I mean it!” Anthony had been grinning, now, leaning over the table, gesturing with his hand, “You could get out there, perform to people, make albums, get rich!” He collapsed back into the leather seat, letting his hand fall onto his thigh with a slap, “I just don’t get it. Why waste your time _here_?”  

It was a while before Zayn had replied. _Wasting time_ , Zayn had thought with a scoff, _Why waste time?_  

“I like small towns.” Zayn had lied. He’d been suffocating already, just in the mere hours he’d been there. “It’s quiet, y’know? Less…” He trailed off, tried to think of one positive aspect. The thought of why he stumbled upon this place, where he was headed to beforehand, what happened those years ago at the original destination, came to mind. He cleared his throat, “Like, traffic, and shit.” 

With a snort, Anthony had laughed, “Yeah, only ‘cause nobody here knows how to fuckin’ drive.” 

He looks at his friend, now, as Zayn sits on the bar stool and Anthony finishes cleaning up, wiping down the bench and counter. It’s only been a few months, yet Zayn’s grown accustomed to the lack of outside influences, the quietness of the air, the closeness of the people. He’s grown used to his shitty house, the familiar strip of land, the expectations of waking up and _knowing_ nothing exciting will happen. He likes that last part the most. 

“So,” Anthony says, head tilted to the side, a quirk to his lips, “Spiralled into insanity yet?” 

“No,” Zayn fixes him with a look. He knows the bet Anthony and Mary had made when he first got there; the bet that Zayn wouldn’t last a week, to which has since been modified to six months, and Mary, forever the optimist, said he’d last three years. The stake is fifty dollars. “I’m not letting you win, Ant. I happen to think Mary deserves that money.”  

Anthony merely chuckles, shaking his head, “You won’t last three years, there’s no bloody way.” 

“Really?” Zayn says, raising the glass to his lips, “You did.” 

He takes a substantial sip as Anthony rolls his eyes, “I control the real estate here, mate. I have _business_ here. Like, I have a good plan goin’ for as long as I live in this shithole.” He gestures lamely with his fingers, “You, on the other hand…” 

“Mm,” Zayn hums, almost challengingly, “What about me, then?” 

“You just stick to your little hide-out, day in and day out. I mean, the only time I see you is while you’re performing and afterwards, basically. That can’t be good for the soul, man.” 

Zayn shrugs, unbothered. “I like my alone time.” 

This brings a laugh out of Anthony, one that sort of resembles a firecracker, loud, abrupt and short. “Yeah, no shit.” 

They talk back and forth until all that’s left in Zayn’s glass is the residue of beer and the dwindling froth down the bottom, resembling that their time is up, almost like an hourglass. He tells Anthony he’ll see him same place, same time, tomorrow night before he steps out of the bar that smells of alcohol and pine wood, and immediately fetches the familiar box from the inside pocket of his jacket.  

He takes out a cigarette and perches it between his lips, lighting it before tucking everything away and picking up his guitar case.  

It’s spring, he thinks. The air is slightly warmer and there’s less clouds in the sky, less fog in the air. Plants have begun to grow again and for all Zayn knows they could be well into spring, nearing into summer. Then again, he remembers Christmas not too long ago. Not clearly, though, the vast majority of that week and into the New Year he had been in an altered state of consciousness, his face becoming all too familiar with his floor. So, it could still be winter, who fucking knows? 

Hillside acts as a detox, a rehab, in a way. He’d rather avoid all media types, avoid the news, avoid the current status of society. In the city, in Mirstone, where he had stayed, there was no avoiding the consistent chatter about current events and world issues and the fucking radio noise that drove Zayn insane. All about grocery prices rising and neighbourhood wars and shit that he couldn’t care about yet people would lap it up like dogs that take to water after a walk.  

But it’s not just the lack of media that Zayn has withdrawn from his stay here, but also his substance abuse. Mirstone had access to any type of drug Zayn could get his hands on. He could whisper the word MDMA and five people would come out of the woodwork, offering their stuff with a gleam in their eye and fingers hungry for cash.  

At first he’d been skeptical, denying whoever had mentioned it to him when he’d been partying. But sometimes it gets to the point where alcohol can only dull your senses so much, can only make your limbs loose and your mind looser, yet you still wake up with a sense of awareness and the ability to think and regret. Sometimes you need more — and that’s exactly what Zayn felt. 

Benders were something he’d quickly gotten used to. Days on end where he’d constantly be high, never falling, never allowing a moment to be aware, to gain a sense of clarity. He’d go out with a bunch of people, do whatever they did, go home with a new group of people, continue the cycle. He’d fuck strangers, live at their houses, exist with flowing adrenaline that never stopped.  

One time, after filling his nostrils with cocaine and imported ketamine, pupils blown wide, he’d found himself at a man’s apartment. He was skinny, skinnier than Zayn, and he wore sunglasses despite the night-time. They had fucked, but neither of them came due to the drugs in their systems. And, still high, they’d travelled out onto the fire escape as the sun rose.  

“Here, have some of this.” His one-night-stand had said, passing him a bong and a lighter.  

Zayn had taken one look at it and felt insulted, like he’d had a drink thrown directly in his face. He had an overwhelming urge to pick it up and throw it out onto the street. It had been his third morning completely obliterated and it was the first time something made him remember that night, made him re-live it.  

He’d never been so mad.  

“Are you fucking with me right now?” He’d asked through gritted teeth, convinced it was a set-up, that this man was out to get him.  

But he’d looked back at him with furrowed brows, a perplexed expression, “What, dude? You don’t like weed?” 

Zayn wanted to tear him limb from limb, wanted to throw him onto the street, too. He was out to get him and he was playing with Zayn’s emotions, he _knew_. He fucking knew.   

But he must have been coming down, must have had something in his brain go off like a switch — which he later learnt was common sense — because he realised there’s no way this man could ever know. Zayn was officially paranoid, and it was seeping into his veins.  

After that, he drunk himself silly until he either passed out or couldn’t think anymore. It continued like that until his money had run dry, until he had to stay sober for job interviews and trials. 

On his first sober night, he let himself cry for the first time in seven months. He’d never felt so weak. 

He thinks about returning to Doncaster. He thinks about it every damn day. Daydreams about it, actually, dreams about how he’d be welcomed, dreams about seeing his family again, dreams about finally seeing the friends he’d lost contact with. He dreams about seeing _him_ — but not for too long, never lets him think about it too long — and almost falls in love with it.   

But then he thinks about the questions, the weary eyes, the judgement — What have you been doing all this time? Where have you been? _How_ have you been? Why did you leave? Who have you become? — And it sends him into a spiral, the hypothetical concept enough to make his skin itch and his head hurt.   

So, there’s that. And also the mere fact that the police and press will swarm him the second they’re aware that the one and only on-the-run boy Zayn Malik has finally returned.  

He can’t go back, no. It’s just not a possibility.  

His cigarette burns to a stub as he reaches the front porch of his old, size-of-a-shoe house. He puts it out in the ashtray on his balcony fence and steps inside, flicking the lights on. As he lies in bed that night, he stares at the ceiling, barely making out the down-lights through the darkness, his hands laced over his middle. 

There’s a few things Zayn’s learnt since moving to a small town around three months ago. One, it’s easier than some people think to deal with people that aren’t necessarily your cup of tea. Two, it’s essential to create— if you don’t already have one — a hobby _or_ to throw yourself into your work to avoid the risk of eventual insanity. Three, making any type of enemy or having a spat with someone is not ideal and will certainly make your stay a living hell. And, lastly, having a phone is almost entirely useless.  

It sits on his bedside table all day, every day. The only people that call him are his mum and, on the rare occasion, the people he hung out with from the city.  

And nobody from Doncaster. Never anybody from Doncaster.

 

 

_Louis_

 

“Next!” 

Louis steps up to the window where a woman with grey hair, spider leg-like eyelashes and a bit of eyeliner smudged on her eyelid is sitting, looking down at her computer. She’s typing something, cut fingernails tapping against the keyboard. She doesn’t say anything further, doesn’t look at him, either.  

“Er, hey,” Louis says, at a loss of how this works. 

“Name?” 

“Louis Tomlinson.” He replies, easier.  

At this, she perks her head up, eyebrows going with the movement. Her eyes lock onto his own and she sort of inspects him for a moment before putting her chin in the palm of her hand, a slight smile on her lips. “Huh.” She says, “Well, it is too.” 

Louis flits his gaze elsewhere, brows pulling together as he clears his throat uncomfortably, “S-sorry?”  

“You’re certainly looking well.” She says, still looking at him like he’s some sort of treasure. Louis’ about to reply, he wants to ask her how the fuck she knows him, but he knows that, realistically, all that would come out is an awkward thanks for the compliment. He doesn’t get a chance to reply, though, since she continues with a question, “How’s your mum going?” 

Right. Everybody’s bloody friends with his mum. He’d forgotten that since he doesn’t go grocery shopping with her anymore or hang out in public with her all that much, since she’d get stopped every square metre by every woman in town to which they’d chat for what seemed like _hours_. It’s no guess as to why Louis had opted out from sticking by her side often, lately.   

“She’s good. Yeah,” Louis nods, rolls from the backs of his heels to the tips of his toes, “Doin’ well, I s’pose.” 

“That’s good to hear.” She says with a genuine smile, still looking at him in wonderment. Louis suddenly has a flicker of guilt in his stomach— _should_ he know this woman? And shit, fuck, he’s done it again, hasn’t he?  

“How… Er, how are you?” He manages, slaps on an expression he hopes seems genuine. 

She lets out a light, airy laugh, much to his surprise. She waves her hand once, absolutely delighted for some odd, greatly weird reason. There’s also a pull to her brows, etching in something as she looks at him with an usual kind of softness, sympathetic. Louis can’t help but merely blink back, the interaction leaving an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He fucking hates sympathy. 

“You don’t know me, darling.” She tells him, her tone something sweet, but also mildly condescending, almost like a _shouldn’t you know that by now?_ It sends a spike to his gut, a twitch to his eye. “Never did, it’s okay. Thank you for asking anyway, though, sweets.”  

“Oh,” Louis says on a breath.  

Every time, every single _damn_ time, it’s like whiplash. It’s like Louis’ been tugged one way and then pushed the other. He has the knowledge that, shit, this person knows who I am, and from there, the questions start spiralling in his head — Have they known me long? Were we close? Did I learn about them? Have I just completely forgotten? Again? — it’s frustrating and it’s emotionally exhausting and then to have them shake their heads, say, _you don’t know me_ , is still completely surreal, is what it is. Because people know him, but he doesn’t know them. Because he’s somewhat of a celebrity, you see, something of a well-known figure in Doncaster, and it couldn’t be because of his breathtaking talents and other-worldly good looks, no. It had to be because of a stupid fucking accident two and a half years ago that people still can’t get over.  

He’s a miracle, apparently. God’s “favourite,” they say.  

Whoopdee-fucking-doo 

“Age?” 

The question startles him out of his gritted teeth and reverie. Right, he’s here for a reason. Speaking to this lady for a reason. A good reason, at that. 

“Twenty.” 

She smiles, “Just turned, right?” She asks it without looking at his documents.

Louis doesn’t know what to respond to that, so he doesn’t. It’s half-way through January, and yes, he’d turned twenty on Christmas Eve. And yes, that’s knowledge to a complete stranger. You would think, after two and a half years, that would get a little easier to comprehend.  

Nope. The uncomfortable feeling underneath his skin still occurs.  

Moving on completely unaware, she gives him a brief of what the test entails and Louis nods along, the words going in and out of his ears faster than her nails clicking on the keyboard did. 

He swallows deeply and nods once more before getting introduced to his instructor. It puts him at a sort of ease when he sees him, since he looks the least bit intimidating with his too-big glasses and quite a goofy looking smile. He’s extremely tall, though, and Louis doesn’t appreciate having to tilt his neck up to look at him. 

“Ready?” He asks Louis, smiling at him, professional. 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“You’ll be fine, don’t stress about it.” 

Louis knows this. He’s gone through many hours, more than required, having to do a lot more than any other teenager out there — _Just to be sure!_ His mum had said, taking him out on the road time and time again after Louis told her he’d be fine — and it’s all to do with the moment that changed his life. It’s not dramatic, to refer to it as that, because it’s the truth. That night changed his life, for the absolute worst (there, really, isn’t any positives about it at all) but the fact is, Louis and cars shouldn’t mix. Not after that.  

He supposes he understands his mum’s hesitance, even after all the time that’s passed. But he’s _twenty_ now. His friends have had their licenses since they were eighteen. It’s about time, now, and he’s convinced her. Finally.   

They get into the car and Louis automatically tries to get a feel of it—adjusting the chair, mirrors, feeling the steering wheel, testing the pedals—and it’s when the instructor tells him to turn on the car that Louis realises that he’s been marking him already. 

The car purrs when Louis turns it on and he takes in a deep breath, ready to pull out onto the road. 

“Turn left, here.” 

Louis nods and obeys. The traffic is mildly light and the weather conditions are perfect for driving in and it’s all almost like second nature to him now, driving, but he can’t help having doubtful thoughts about everything he’s doing. Is he checking both ways correctly? Is he slightly over the speed limit? Did he turn that corner too widely? Are his hands in the right position of the steering wheel? 

And, of course, when Louis’ nervous, he talks. 

“How old were you when you went for your test?” 

“Uh,” The instructor finishes writing something and pushes his glasses up from where they’ve slipped down his nose, “I was eighteen.” 

“See, that’s when most people go for it, don’t they? I’m twenty, like, s’bit late, isn’t it? But better late then never, right?” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, shifts in his seat, “But, like, I don’t think my sister will _ever_ drive. She just like, doesn’t care for it much? But I’ve wanted to get my license and my own car for _so_ long—“  

“Turn right.” 

Louis stops his train of thought and turns right, indicator and all. He clears his throat and bites his lip, hoping that if his mouth is trapped shut, he won’t babble and talk the ear off of this poor man. 

An hour later and Louis’ beaming at the camera, holding his paper that shows his score in his hand. The camera flashes and he’s quickly wrapped up by his mum, who was waiting for him as soon as he got out of the car, grinning from ear-to-ear.

_

  

The bar is absolutely packed for a Thursday night, but in a crowded town like this it’s not even surprising. The people are all dressed in casual attire—jeans, t-shirt, some are even in tracksuit pants and hoodies, which, really, paint the area in the laid-back, lower-class place it is—and the music being played faintly over the speakers that hang in each corner of the bar is unfamiliar, old. 

Niall shouts the first round of drinks, making sure everyone says cheers for Louis’ success, “May we all get fucking wasted due to our mate’s late as fuck license!” and as though it happened in quick succession, like a quick film montage, they’re suddenly all drunk off god knows how many pints, arms around each other swaying from side-to-side along to a song only their grandparents would know. 

They’d quite literally stumbled into this place late one night after they’d spent all their time at some filthy club in the city. They were taking a taxi home from the outskirts of Doncaster, when Harry had blurted loudly that the total on the machine was a lot more than they’d anticipated.  

“You can pay it, right?” The cab driver had said, slowing down the car as he spoke.  

“Uhh,” Harry had slurred from the front seat, looking at the other three boys for help.  

“‘Course we can!” Niall shouted, laughing nervously. He’s the most terrible liar Louis’ ever met. “I’m a fuckin’ Leprechaun, mate, I’m shittin’ gold!”  

It was, obviously, because some girls that night had taken a liking to Niall’s Irish accent, something that grows thicker and thicker with every drink he has. Niall, that night, had had many drinks. Was at the point where he was hardly understandable, actually.  

“I’m sure,” Liam had sung, lingering on the last word for a lot longer than any word is necessary to be lingered on, finger pointed upwards, “It will all. Work out. In the end.” 

Louis had snorted at that, then had giggled, burped, and held Liam’s finger. “We’re all broke as shit, taxi driver.” 

Harry had gasped at Louis’ words, Liam’s mouth fell to the floor, Niall had hit him so hard in the gut he was sure he was about to throw up. The taxi pulled to a stop and they all had to pay what they could, their wallets left in a dry state, the boys’ left in a drunken state, and their plans left in a fucked state.  

“So,” Liam said, swaying, eyes half-open, “Whadda we do now?” 

They’d stumbled through the streets, Niall being their own personal GPS, Harry greeting every passerby with a wave, Louis holding up Liam’s weight. It was by complete luck they’d walked into _The Milhouse_ , a place filled with men and women twice their age but have obviously never grown up. The bar never closes, is the thing, it stays open to five in the morning and the people there, people around his _mother’s_ age, party ’til close.   

They knew instantly that it was a place to frequent from now on, since, on their arrival, they were greeted with belly-laughs and were shouted beers, _drinks for the youngins_!   

They’re not quite as excited to see them, now, already used to the pack of young boys that would prefer to hang out with an older crowd than a bunch of sloppy teenagers. It’s better, alright?  

And here, wrapped in each other, shouting out of tune and without a care, Louis realises it’s because he doesn’t have anyone to impress. Niall’s not on the prowl for whichever lady that as much as looks in his direction, Harry’s not getting hit on every two minutes, Liam’s not shying away with being who he is and Louis’ not fussing around, making sure he looks nothing but perfect to whichever man looks his way. 

The rest of the bar is just as carefree and dozy off of booze; singing along terribly and laughing loudly amongst it all. 

They eventually stumble outside for some air and a smoke, bundling up next to a gas heater. Liam and Harry still have their arms around each other, grinning wildly from cheek to cheek, eyes glistening, hazy. Sometimes Harry reminds Louis of the cat in Alice in Wonderland, the one he’s forgotten the name of. He’s still trying to wrap his head around all the Disney films, to be honest, ever since Harry had made him watch a bundle of them one weekend when Louis had fallen sick and couldn’t move from his couch. 

“But, Lou! It’s vital to know these! It’s, like, an essential part of everyone’s lives!” Harry had told him, or, more fittingly, whined as he stretched himself over Louis’ weak body and petted his hair until Louis huffed and shoved him off.  

“Fine! Fine,” Louis caved, because of course he did, and he’d bitten his lip to stop the smile threatening to spill, “What’s the first one, then?” 

“The best, the absolute _best_.” Harry jumped off the couch, opening up one of the DVD’s he held in his hand. “This is called _The Lion King_.” Louis had frowned at the name but then Harry had looked back at him — so seriously that Louis had almost been concerned — and said, “I’ve brought the tissues.” And Louis just couldn’t help but break his composure, cackling even if his ribs hurt.   

If he had to wipe away a few tears with the sleeves of his jumper an hour later, nobody had to know.  

Louis glances at Niall, then, all red cheeks and slurring words and Louis smiles to himself. This, right here, is all Louis needs, he thinks. His mates for years, his mates for life, the only people that don’t treat him like an expensive piece of China about to break, the only people that don’t have expressions of sadness or _sympathy_ whenever the accident is mentioned.   

They treat him like they would’ve done (Louis assumes) if he’d never gotten a bloody head injury. It’s refreshing, it’s nice. It’s exactly what he needs.  

“D’you guys ever think of leaving here?” Harry asks once the world goes quiet, the outside area of the bar empty, the music unable to be heard. But maybe that’s only because his senses are blurred, too buffered to care. 

Liam shrugs against him, “Sometimes,” He says, thoughtfully, tapping his lips with a finger “But I dunno where else I would go.” 

“Same.” Niall pitches in, raising up a glass that’s not his own as though he were toasting something. The other boys don’t even have drinks to join him, and Louis giggles at that fact, pressing his face into Liam’s shoulder. “Lived here me whole life, anywhere else would be weird.” 

They all hum in response, agreeing.  

God, Louis would love to get out, though. Would love to see other people, other bars like this one, other towns where people don’t know his name just from looking at him, people that don’t know his ‘story’; just thinks of him as a passing stranger that they don’t think twice about. Yeah, that’s a fucking great thought. 

“We should, though,” Louis finds himself blurting out, throwing his arm around Niall with a mischievous grin, “Why not? Like, even just for a few days, y’know?” 

“What, like a road trip?” Harry asks, eyebrow raised, weariness in his voice. 

Louis’ heart almost stutters in his chest from excitement, from the unknown, from the mere prospect of a road trip. He just got his license. What a better way to celebrate than to go on a drive to fuck-knows-where with his best mates in the whole wide world? 

He nods to himself. His mind already made up.  

“Yeah,” He says, face almost splitting into two. The other boys look at him like he’s crazy, or how they do whenever they know he’s about to do something bad but can’t stop him. The anticipation in their eyes, the cringing of their mouths. Louis thinks he sees Harry shake his head minutely before he flicks Niall’s nose and says, “I’ll drive.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Louis_

 

In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably best that Louis goes on his own.

He hasn’t had this much independence in… Ever. Well, to his knowledge, anyway. In his memory, all he knows is constant surveillance and never-ending company. Even when he’s alone in public he knows there’s someone that his family knows somewhere near by, just keeping an eye on him, watching. It’s absolutely fucking creepy, now that Louis’ sitting here, in his car, thinking about it. 

He gets the whole fragile thing, even the I-almost-lost-you-once-I’m-never-losing-you-again feeling. He does. But he’s also not four-years-old. And, also, what are the chances of him getting into another car accident? Or something just as equally traumatising and life-threatening? Surely, being in a coma before you graduate high-school and coming out with next to no memory, in turn fucking up your entire life, is a hall-pass of some kind. _Surely_ , nothing major will happen to him ever, ever again. 

And if it _does_ , then, well, God really fucking hates his favourites. 

So, it’s cool, really. That Harry had family from overseas staying at his house, Liam had “extremely important” college work to catch up on and Niall had work commitments. They’d all said the same thing when they were sobering up the next day and Louis had reinforced the ‘road trip’ idea: “Maybe another time, Lou.”

“What? Why?” Louis had said over a bowel of chips he wasn’t touching anymore. His stomach felt queasy and heavy, all the liquid from the night before sloshing around like a bucket full of water. 

“Mum’s side of the family is visiting from America today, stayin' for the week.” Harry mumbled from where he sat opposite Louis, face covered by his hands. “Gotta keep ‘em company. Or somethin’, I dunno…”

He sort of trailed off and Louis had frowned in confusion before shrugging it off, inhaling deeply. “Niall, lad?”

“Huh?” He replied loudly, slouched next to him. If Louis didn’t know better, he’d say he just woke up. _Jesus_ , Louis had thought to himself, _When did they all become such grandpas?_

“Road trip. Next weekend.” Louis told him, squeezing his knee underneath the table, making him jump. “You down?”

“Mate,” Niall said sluggishly, “I’m workin’.”

“So.” Louis replies, matter-of-fact. “Take it off.”

Niall just scoffed in response. Louis pinched his knee again, harder this time, for good measure. He was about to ask Liam, then, but as soon as he’d looked up, he was met with puppy-dog eyes and a sad expression. Louis looked at him expectantly, bracing for the worst. 

“I have—I have uni shit, man, I can’t—“

“So what I’ve gathered, lads,” Louis had announced, folding his hands together over the table and looking at them all in the eye. “Is that you’re all a bunch of cockheads.”

He had successfully earned a half-hearted “ _Heyyy_ ,” from Harry, and a chip smothered to his cheek from Niall. And that was that.

Except, Louis wasn’t down for another time.

Once the idea was in his head it was all he could think about. Doncaster’s so _boring_. He loves it, he does. Some aspects are nice, some aspects drive him completely bonkers. He supposes that’s with all hometown’s, though — win some, lose some — isn’t it?

Essentially, he’d made up his mind the moment he got back home, had a shower and a nap, and ate dinner. On the Thursday, he decided to break the news.

“‘M gonna go for my first drive tomorrow.” Louis had told his mum when her fork was half-way to her mouth, gravy dripping off the edge of sliced turkey. 

He could see the anxiety already forming in her expression. “Oh?” She replied, calm, “With who?”

Of course that’s the first question she asked. Louis had coughed slightly, shifted in his chair a little. “Er, no—nobody, actually. Just little ol’ me.” 

A piece of cutlery fell onto a plate with a clatter. Louis shot his eyes to the sound, looking at Felicite. Her wide eyes fall from Louis’ before she blinked, “Sorry.”

“Um,” His mum had said, face telling Louis she was unable to process it. “Around the corner? Or…?”

Louis weighed his head from side to side, contorted his mouth into something weird, fretful for her reply when he told her, “No, I, er, I’m gonna go out of Doncaster for a bit.” It had been like ripping off a bandaid, five times over. Because not only were his mum and Felicite affected, but Daisy, Phoebe and Dan, too. Ernest and Doris were over in their play-pen, completely oblivious. “It won’t be, like, _forever_ , obviously.” Louis scrambled, hands waving around, “I just want to see other places, y’know? I probably won’t even stray too far, anyway. I’ll miss you lot too much, for one.” He said, promptly messing up Daisy’s hair, “ _And_ I’m not sure I’ll even _like_ driving that much. It’s just, like,” He sighed a bit, swallows, “I just wanna do it. Get away for a bit.”

His mum had let her eyes drift to her food, complete silence around the table. She cleared her throat, but her voice had come out like a mumble, “We’ll discuss this after dinner.”

“After dinner” ended up being Louis and her in the kitchen, drying plates from the dishwasher and avoiding the situation entirely. Louis had felt heaviness in his heart; he knew how much it was tearing her up to let him go. 

“Mum—“ He’d started, leaning his hip against the counter, voice stern and with purpose. 

“Look,” She replied, standing from where she was bent at the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a nearby hand towel and closed her eyes, like she was bracing for impact. “I want you to know that I’m definitely not comfortable with the idea.” She locked eyes with him and Louis had to look away. “At all.”

Louis deflated like a child, groaning, “I know that, but I’m gonna go!” His voice rose in pitch, and she rolled her eyes. _Yeah_ , Louis had wondered, _Can’t guess where I get my attitude from at all_.“Besides,” He’d continued, daring, “ _Lottie’s_ moved out, hasn’t she? To the bloody city of all places! And she’s _younger_ than me—!”

“Yes, but Lottie’s not…” She had interrupted him with a type of fire that silenced Louis completely, but her voice died down, trailed off, the fire no longer flickering. “She didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Louis prodded, arms folded over his chest, “Didn’t _almost_ die?”

So, yes, Louis had left the next day with not the best spirits in the world. 

It wasn’t all bad, though, he said good-bye to his sisters, wrapped them in hugs and kissed their heads and he got three phone-calls from Liam, Harry and Niall, all wishing him luck. His mum still isn’t thrilled with the idea, but when she was bidding him good-bye, Louis had held her close and told her he’ll text her as soon as he thinks of it, “S’what technology’s for, innit?”, and she had promptly warned him not to use his phone driving. Not now, not ever. 

And as he looks out the windshield of his 2008 Volkswagen Polo (he’s not the most loaded person in the world right now, alright?) he sees nothing but road and dirt with pathetic patches of snow, stretching on and on and on and on…

Louis sighs. He’s got Liam Gallagher’s new album on, _Wall Of Glass_ currently playing, but he sure wishes he could use his phone whilst driving, especially now. He didn’t really anticipate the long stretches of nothingness on his road trip, didn’t realise the only company he’d have is his own. The thought makes his stomach flip uncomfortably. Shit. 

It’s probably been around an hour and a half since he left home. He flew out of Doncaster as fast as he could, not bothering to stop anywhere, just eager eager eager to get out of there. And, as of now, he can say he’s actually left. 

The excitement and anticipation had left him pretty fast when he had turned onto a road that led him somewhere he didn’t know — because that’s the essence of it, isn’t it? Just driving blindly into the unknown — and he was merely met with less traffic, less buildings, less anything. He thought it was temporary, that surely there’d be more civilisation after this small patch of No Mans Land. But he’d been wrong, of course. Because it wasn’t a small patch, it was prolonging, boring. 

And now Louis’ left to drive it, because there’s no way in hell he’d say fuck it and turn around. No way would he go back the way he came, seeing all the same shit again and end up back in traffic just to start over. No, he’s a stubborn little shit and he now has to see what’s on the other side of this sparse fuckery. 

The song ends and _Come Back To Me_ starts. It’s upbeat, familiar. Louis lets it play, humming along and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. It could be fun, could be great, actually. This is the best idea he’s ever had. It’s everyone _else’s_ fault they’re missing out on something rememberable, fun. He’ll return home with the biggest grin, absolutely elated about what he’s seen, who he’s met, telling everyone the stories and memories he’s made. They’ll be jealous, so jealous, that they didn’t join. 

He wonders what he’ll do, where he’ll stay. The possibilities are endless, aren’t they? He wonders who he’ll meet, if there’s anyone who will be worth meeting. 

Thrill and nerves curl throughout him. God, what if he meets his next boyfriend? What if he falls in love? 

Louis shakes his head, “Get it together, Tommo.” He mumbles to himself. 

Realistically, he’ll probably end up at some shabby motel for the night, eat some half-arsed meals, walk around and see absolutely nothing worth talking about but have the bottoms of his feet feel like they’re about to fall off. Realistically, he’ll grow bored and miserable and tried, but his pride will be held way too high to go back home so fast, and he won’t tell anyone anything, other than the fact that he had the best time of his life. 

“Their loss.” Louis says under his breath, jumping his brows upwards, unimpressed, as he shifts in his seat for the forth time in under five minutes. “Wouldn’t want to be still stuck in Doncaster,” He continues, because he’s lonely and he’s underestimated how long he’d last without talking, “Stuck with visiting family,” He sniffs, “A job at Kmart,” He grimaces, “Fucking _university_ —“

At that, his car makes a spluttering sound. 

“What the fuck?”

Louis feels it bunny-hop. He’s still driving, the engine’s still going, but the car just _spluttered_ and _jumped_. 

He parks it on the side of the road for good measure. The car’s so bloody old it doesn’t exactly tell him what’s gone wrong and Louis could hit himself. Maybe it was just a temporary problem? Maybe the car hit a rock and it… was affected? Louis doesn’t fucking know. 

Meanwhile, the lyrics coming from his stereo patronise him, _Oh, now you’re feeling the fear, ‘cause you’ve never been alone before, oh…_

“Fuck off, Liam.” Louis groans, shutting him up with a flick of his hand. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest, closes his eyes. His fingers rub at them as he thinks. 

He could call a mechanic, tell them to come out and look at it, make sure it’s okay. He could check it out himself, flip open the bonnet, attempt to fix up whatever the fuck is wrong. He could sit and wait here, wait for another car to pass and ask for some help like some stupid, clueless teenager. He could risk it, just ignore it and wait until he finds some sort of civilisation and get it checked out properly. Or, he could call anyone. Literally anyone. And they’d pick him up as quickly as they could. 

But, fuck. That. 

The last option is not do-able in the slightest. He’d rather dunk his head in sewage, thank you very much. He imagines Niall’s never-ending cackling if he found out Louis had gotten two hours into his road trip just to break down in the middle of nowhere and ask for help. 

He ends up deciding on the forth option, since a mechanic would take forever and cost his entire life savings, he himself wouldn’t have a damn clue how to work anything underneath the bonnet, he doesn’t know when anyone would drive passed him to help out and, honestly, he doesn’t fancy waiting. 

So, with a deep inhale, he shifts the car into drive again, and steers back onto the road, wishing that there’ll be some signs of life soon enough.

 

_Zayn_

 

He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up, the sun peeking through his blinds uninvited. He supposes it’s around midday, seeing as the light frost of morning has passed and Zayn feels even more sluggish than if he had woken up in the AM. 

He slides a hand down his face, lets out a soft sigh. 

Deciding what to do during the day has become one of his most challenging tasks. He goes through a multitude of things — leave the town, visit the city, go shopping, see a film, visit a lake — but somehow his day always, _always_ turns out the same; drink a coffee, sit in his shed, attempt to write songs, grab dinner, see Anthony, sleep. 

It’s routine, familiar, and Zayn settles for it. 

So, it’s what he does. He drinks a coffee, the stuff you buy at the supermarket, instant, and he has it with that shit sugar that comes in packets. It does the trick. He sits in his shed, the place that’s sort of his safe-haven, and also one of the things that certified his agreement to live here. 

“And that? Is that useable?” Zayn had asked after being utterly underwhelmed with what he’d been shown already, his house being the most lacklustre building he’d seen. 

“What, this busted thing?” Anthony had quirked a brow at him, gesturing to the shed that was short of breaking down right in front of their eyes. “I mean, sure, if you want to use it.”

He remembers opening it for the first time. It was completely bare, the inside of it smelling like someone’s old shoe and the paint chipping on the inside plus the spillage stains on the floor made his skin crawl. He still liked it, though, still saw himself in it. He figured, dully, that houses are something people automatically feel they’re welcomed into, expected to be brought in, sat down, made comfortable. Nobody wants to enter a shitty, old shed, is what Zayn had thought. 

Maybe it’s sad, a bit unusual, but alone time is what he’s used to now, it’s what he craves. 

But as he sits in his shed, the light above him working perfectly, the desk pushed up against the wall with mountains of lined paper with scribbled lyrics, a pin board with memories and notes, his guitar perched in one corner and his music stand in the other, he’s never felt more comfortable. 

And he attempts to write. 

His songs aren’t world-stopping, he’d say. They aren’t Grammy award-winning, aren’t poetic or ones that make your mind think. They’re a stream of consciousness that he happens to jot down, a diary of thoughts and feelings, but it rhymes. He feels as though he’s been run dry as of late, though. Feels like he’s written every inconceivable way about how he feels, how he felt, what he thinks and what he thought. There’s only so many words that depict the notion that he fucked up, that he’s missing everything he’s ever known, that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be the same.

The townies have asked him — some subtle, some not so — about his past, about why he’s so moody all the time. The elders, especially, will look at him with a pleasant frown, ask, “Why are you so blue, my love?” But in the same tone, Zayn knows they’re asking, “Why do you bring such a dark cloud wherever you go?” And he knows it’s possibly draining, knows these people are used to lightness and laughter and to watch someone beat themselves up internally, bring a gloominess to an otherwise bright town, would be saddening and a burden; but he just cannot find it in himself to care. 

In response to their questions, Zayn used to reply with a short smile and a, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” And it was a fucking lie, of course it was, but they’d smile back, pat his arm, feel a little bit special since he had insinuated he’d confined in them. But if he were asked now, he’d shake his head, laugh a little, “It’s nothing,” He’d lie, again, “S’just how I am.”

Anthony knows there was a friend. Knows there was an accident involved. Knows Zayn’s in some sort of trouble. Knows he used to be in a very, very dark hole before they met. But he only knows this through Zayn’s slurred words and hazy eyes; bits of information slipping through the cracks, leaving his mouth and before Zayn can grab them with his uncoordinated hands, swiping pathetically to shove them back where they belong, they’ve already infiltrated Anthony’s ears, sitting there for however long he decides to keep them. 

Thankfully, he’s never prodded for more, never asked for an elaboration. 

As he’s humming out a melody, foot tapping against the floor, he hears a sudden gasp outside his window. It’s further away, maybe near the front of his house, but Zayn still hears it quite clearly. “Really?” Comes a surprised female voice. Zayn tries to place who it is and fails. 

There’s usually nothing that deserves that much excitement in this place, so Zayn’s ears quirk up a bit, curious. Unfortunately, nothing else happens. Though he shouldn’t be shocked, since about a month ago the entire town had decided to meet in the middle of the road and conduct a “good bye ceremony” to one of the twelve-year-old boys before he went away for a week to his grandma’s. 

Zayn sighs before looking back at his lyrics. He tries to remember the melody he was just humming. He sighs again, unable to retrieve it. 

 

_

 

Friday nights are exactly the same as Saturday nights, here. There’s that same sort of buzz throughout the town, the happiness of the weekend and the joy of a break. Though, from what Zayn’s learnt, the people who work aren’t exactly scraping their butts down to the bone. They’re either retired with money coming out of their ears or working just to fill the time when it’s not necessary to, or have just been blessed with bounds of cash and can afford to live away from anywhere without having a nine to five. 

So, the weekend is merely a social construct, here, since every day might as well be a break for them. 

He remembers Friday nights back in Doncaster, remembers the pubs, the people, the atmosphere, Zayn’s wide-eyes as he was exposed to it all. He remembers Saturday nights, too, the ones where he’d go out and stay until the morning, laughing his way through a bunch of beers, smelling like sweat and a mixture of alcohol by the end of the night but being unable to care. He misses that; being able to round up a group of friends with the intent of just having a good time, knowing they’ll make memories that they’ll laugh about later. There isn’t a day where he doesn’t miss it. 

He stubs out his cigarette before swinging open the dingy doors to the bar, the music and the chatter filling his ears. People look at him and wave, Zayn smiles back. 

He heads to the far corner of the room, the one that’s occupied by a small stage, and gets to where the lip of it begins before he hears Anthony call out his name. 

Zayn turns around, watching as Anthony half-jogs before slowing down in front of him. He has something new in his eyes, and he’s grinning in a way that makes Zayn sort of excited without knowing why. 

“Zayn, mate,” He says, hand to Zayn’s forearm, disbelief on his face, “You’ll never guess what happened today.”

“What’s that?” Zayn asks, shifting the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder. 

“Well, I was out gardening, y’know, pulling out weeds and shit. As you do.”

“As you do.” Zayn echoes. 

“And, all of a sudden, I hear a car, like pulling into our street.”

His expression is so bright Zayn struggles to understand it. It isn’t unusual that people stumble upon this place every so often, it isn’t unusual that people find out about it and travel the distance just to drive through, amazed at this almost Amish-like town. But something in Anthony’s demeanour tells Zayn’s it’s something more.

“Right…” He says, prodding. 

“And being the first house on the street I obviously saw it first and the car stops driving. So, I, like, walk over to introduce myself like I always do, but, _shit_ ,” Anthony exhales, lets his hand drop from Zayn’s arm, “The dude gets out of the car and I almost drop dead then and there. I mean, I thought I was dreaming when _you_ came here, but this one…”

“So…” Zayn says, “Did you get his number? Or—“

“Oh! No, he’s staying with me.” Anthony beams, happiest Zayn’s ever seen him. “He has problems with his car, or something, so I told him he’s welcome to stay for as long as he needs until it gets fixed.”

Zayn raises a brow. “He’s staying with you?” He searches the bar half-heartedly, “Is he here now?”

Anthony shakes his head, “Said he feels a little tired so he went to bed. So cute, Zayn, honestly. Think he’s, like, the one.”

Zayn nods his head slowly in response. He’s very obviously not The One. He wants to ask him if he even knows if this guy’s gay, is even interested in him, is single, but he refrains. He lets Anthony stay happy, over-the-moon, he imagines it’s been a while for him to even meet someone worth getting to know. 

He taps Anthony’s shoulder lightly, “Congrats, man. Happy for you.”

He earns a chuckle in response, “You should’ve met him, everyone else did, was quite the commotion.” _Ah_ , Zayn thinks, _So that’s what that was_. “But if you see him ‘round, say hi! His name’s Louis.”

Zayn feels it like a sudden kick to the chest, leaving him winded. 

Louis.

There’s no way it could be him. He drove here, by himself. There’s no way his mum would allow that. 

He’s about to ask what he looks like, how old he is, if he knows his last name, but Anthony’s already carrying on unaware, giving Zayn a comforting slap to the shoulder before turning around and disappearing through the crowd. 

A kaleidoscope of memories flood all at once. Feathery brown hair, opal-blue eyes, mischievous grin, soft skin, pink lips, infectious laugh. 

It can’t be him.

_Louis_

 

He’s about to throw in the towel and give up completely. He’s about two seconds from pulling over, swallowing his pride and dialling his mum’s phone number. He’s tired from driving, his stomach’s growling at him from neglect but he’s afraid that if he stops his car won’t start again. Quite the predicament, really. 

So, he’s about to give it all up and label this adventure as a complete failure, when he finally sees some buildings in the distance. 

He gasps, “Please don’t be a mirage, please don’t be a mirage, please don’t be a mirage…”

The closer he gets, the more certified it seems. There’s more buildings, too, and it looks like houses. Like a little town, a community. 

This could go one of two ways, he thinks. He could arrive, be greeted by people that are way too weird for anyone and be immediately creeped out, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible or, it could be his saving grace and before he knows it he could get back on the road, unscathed. 

He hopes, _prays_ , that it’s the latter.

As he rolls up to the town, he quickly realises just how small it is. It’s probably the equivalent to Louis’ street alone. Which is… slightly odd. He’s never heard of something like this, out here in the middle of nowhere. 

With a deep breath, Louis slowly rolls in, looking around. On his left seems to not be a house, instead sort of like a pub, like one of those hole-in-the-wall types. Though, here, he supposes that’s their main. On his right — well. 

There’s a house on that side, a very well-off, good-looking, rich house. Seems completely out of place in something so empty and low-end. Where there should be walls are vast windows, seeing inside his clean, modern interior. Out the front is a well-kept lawn with flowers and trees of the like. And pulling out weeds is someone around his own age, possibly older, looking at him.

Louis slows to a stop and the boy starts walking towards him. 

“Fingers crossed.” Louis says on a sigh as he turns off his car. If things all go south and he can’t escape with this shit of a box, then, well, he supposes it’s been fun while it lasted. 

He opens the door and jumps out the car, brushing his palms against the material of his tracksuit pants. He probably looks like absolute shit, vans donning his feet and with a simple white t-shirt, his hair not done, fringe hanging lowly over his eyes and he bets he has bags underneath them already. But all he was doing was driving, okay? Contrary to his mate’s popular beliefs, he doesn’t treat life like a runway. 

“Hiya!” Calls the man, reaching out his hand without a glove to him as he gets close enough, the smile on his face friendly.

“Hi, hey,” Louis replies, taking his hand and shaking it, “I, er, I seem to be having a bit of trouble with me car, here.”

They drop hands and Louis immediately puts his own on his hips and shifts his weight, placing one foot forward. 

“Oh. yeah?” Mr Gardener says, squinting a little as he inspects Louis’ hunk of junk. “What’s the problem?”

“Ah, yeah, well, that’s the, erm, _thing_ ,” Louis sucks in a breath, pulls a face, scratches his nose, “I really don’t know, to be honest.” He confesses on an exhale.

He gets a laugh in return, making Louis relax a little, moving from side to side on each foot, his hands now clasped in front of him. God, it’s good to stretch his legs a little. 

“D’you mind if I have a check, then?” He asks, gesturing towards it. Louis just nods and gives a hand signal as if to say _by all means_. “I’m Anthony, by the way.” He says, walking over to the bonnet.

“Louis.” Comes his reply, following Anthony a bit blindly. 

As he walks, the rest of the town comes into view. Upon first glance, his stomach sort of sinks, flips and twists uncomfortably. There, on porches of houses, on sidewalks, on the road, are the townies. They watch on like he were some kind of animal at the zoo, curious and excited and unable to tear their eyes away. Louis finds himself frowning. Where the hell is he? Is he fucking dreaming?

“—Ere?”

Louis shakes his head, realises Anthony had been talking to him while his head was stuck in his car. “Sorry, what?”

Anthony laughs again, “I said, you look a little lost, what brings you here?”

“I am, I really am.” Louis admits, chuckling in spite of himself. He leans against the side of his car, looks towards the sky, away from… his audience. “I was supposed to be going on some massive road trip, y’know? Get out of my neighbourhood and just discover whatever the fuck else there is to discover. Would be great if I had a car that’d last me more than a couple of hours, right?”

Anthony replies with a grin. Louis notices he’s not looking at the car anymore. “I was gonna say, you can’t have gone very far, what with that Yorkshire accent and all.”

Louis feels his lips twinge into a smirk, “What, that obvious is it?”

“Like the strongest I’ve heard.” He says, to which Louis rolls his eyes, to which Anthony laughs again, “Actually, that’s a lie, got another one living here who’s from around that area, accent is thick as anything.”

Louis hums, “Really? From where?”

“Not exactly sure,” He replies, “Not much of a talker, that one.”

He frowns, “Bit worrying.”

Anthony chuckles, “Nah, he’s a good one.” He places both hands on the bonnet and sighs, “Well, from what I can see, there’s nothing really wrong. Like, nothing obvious. _But_ I really am just looking at the engine, so.”

A pause. 

Louis looks on with a quirked brow, “What, you wanna take it apart? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, obviously not _me_ ,” Anthony says, a bit flustered, “I’m only a real estate agent. But we could definitely get someone out here to do that.”

Louis folds his arms over his chest, “There’s nobody here that’s handy with cars?”

“Mate,” Anthony says with a sympathetic stare. Louis feels his soul deflate. “I don’t know if you've noticed, but, only one of us in this town has a car. And pretty sure he hasn’t driven it in months.”

Louis shrugs without hesitation, “Worth a shot.”

Anthony sighs again. Louis decides he doesn’t like his attitude. Anthony closes the bonnet and rubs the back of his neck before he faces him again. “Look, you could try but I mean, I could save you the hassle and tell you right now it wouldn’t be worth it. It’d also be a lot faster to just call a mechanic.”

“God, a mechanic?” Louis faces towards the clouds that mock him. He squints his eyes. “I have to cough up a lung of cash just for some dude to take this shit apart, put it back together, and tell me if there’s even _anything_ wrong?”

He hears a sound that somewhat resembles a giggle and Louis opens his eyes to see Anthony looking at him. He’s well aware he could be shooting him a death glare right now but the receiver looks completely unaffected. 

“You didn’t plan this whole thing through that well, did you?” 

“Oh, fuck off, yeah?” Louis says back, the fire in his words failing to come out. He crosses his arms over onto the side of the car and presses his face into it, trying to reflect on his options. Honestly, the one where he magically appears home on the couch by his mum’s side seems like the most alluring option possible. 

“Hey,” Anthony says, softer this time. He’s a lot closer, too. Louis turns his face to look at him. “Tell you what, I’ve a friend who’s a mechanic, but he doesn’t charge an arm and a leg for a trip or a service or anything. I could give him a call and you’re more than welcome to stay in my guest bedroom until he arrives.”

“Really?” Louis replies. Anthony nods, smile forming. Louis’ about to express his gratitude, when, “Wait, hang on. Guest bedroom? Like, to stay? How long will it take for this guy to get here?”

Anthony scrunches up his face a bit, almost as though he was hoping Louis wouldn’t catch that part. He makes a high noise, like he’s estimating. “Eh, a few, uh, a few days? Roughly?”

“ _Days_?” Louis questions, brows pulling together. He pushes off the car and walks a bit, away from Anthony. A few days in this dump. A few days in a town so small they find it fascinating when they get visitors. A few goddamn _days_. “Well, ’s'pose I don’t really have an option, there, do I?”

He gets a shrugs in response, “Could you call a friend, or—?”

“No, no.” He laughs, shakes his head. “They’ll just find it hilarious. Quite like you’ve just done, actually. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Thankfully, Anthony doesn’t take things seriously and laughs at Louis’ shitty attempt at banter. He lets out a sigh, looks towards the house. It’s nice, he thinks. Definitely better than the one-star motel he was sure he’d be staying in for his first night. 

“Alright, Anthony, let’s call up your mechanic, then.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis replies, attempting at a grin, “You’ve got yourself a new roomie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://louiswmalik.tumblr.com/post/172123489090)


	3. Chapter 3

_Zayn_

He performs with a newfound anxiousness in his heart and trepidation on his mind. He’s psyching himself out, he knows he is. And it’s all because of some name he hasn’t heard since he came from Doncaster. It’s amazing that he was able to avoid it all this time. 

But hearing it sets off the worry of _what if what if what if?_ What if they meet again, what if Louis is _the_ Louis, what if they come face to face? 

Christ, what if it _is_ Louis, and he’s managed to track Zayn down? What if he’s here with a purpose? What if he wants to talk? What if he knows everything and _confronts_ him? 

What if he plans on getting revenge?

Zayn swallows, his thoughts stuttering his fingers on the chords of the guitar. He misses a note. Nobody notices.

_It can’t be him_ , Zayn reminds himself, shaking his head. _You’re doing it again_. 

“It” refers to the vast period of his life that he likes to call “episodes”. It was a time when he was living in the city, without a group of people he could call his friends, without many people around him at all, actually. He was alone, inebriated and down. 

He’d often times find himself in amongst crowds — at clubs, casinos, shopping centres, streets — and all it’d take is a flash of blue eyes, a certain haircut, a similar style, a familiar laugh. Zayn would convince himself it was none other but Louis. 

This was dangerous for two reasons: one; Zayn was both petrified and overwhelmingly ecstatic to see his best friend, and two; Zayn’s sobriety was non-existent when would happen. 

“You!” Zayn had called out one night to a mere passerby in a shopping centre, words slurred. It’d been around six, and he’d been sitting in one of the booths at the food court, hiding his bottle of Jim Beam within a paper McDonald’s bag as he sipped on it leisurely. “You, there!”

He was pointing, shifting out of the leather to try and stand, try and catch Louis’ attention. They’d always greet each other so informally. Louis would usually call out, his voice louder than them all, “Oi, you!” and Zayn would smirk, knowing exactly who it was before he turned around. Once he had, Zayn would bump his hip to Louis’ when they were close enough, responding with his own words, softer; just for them, “Hey, you.”

But Louis didn’t respond how he thought he would this time. He’d turned around, and an unfamiliar face had looked back at him. He was frowning with bushy brows and had a large nose and was everything that Louis is not. Zayn had felt the sinking feeling in his belly yet again. He wished it would go away, that feeling. He wished his stomach didn’t have enough space to fall like it does when he’s disappointed. 

This time, though, Zayn hadn’t had time to wallow about anything much longer. Non-Louis had been the type that either really hated being called over in public, or lived up the law’s arse, since, not even twenty minutes later Zayn had found himself out on the streets, being kicked out of the shopping centre by security. 

And now he’s doing it again, but a verbal episode, and sober. 

He wraps up the song, possibly with a duller sound than his usual tone with this particular song, but the laughs of the patrons drown it out. His eyes immediately flick over to Anthony who’s behind the bar, pouring drinks. He’s laughing, a certain glow about him. 

Zayn really hopes it’s not Louis. 

A part of him wants to dart over to Anthony, ask him if he could be introduced to the newcomer, to _just_ be sure. Another part of him would rather stay in the dark and never find out, just in case. Another, more determined part of him would prefer just to get drunk. 

So, he places his guitar case behind the bar and promptly sits on one of the bar stools, ordering a pint. 

“Finishing early?” Anthony asks, looking briefly over to the stage. Zayn supposes he has, since the pub is still fairly busy. He still gets a beer poured, anyway, and he shrugs in response. 

“Think it was just a smaller set.”

“Ah, well.” Anthony says with a smile, placing down the beer in front of him. Zayn takes it almost immediately, drinking it with a few gulps. If Anthony wants to say anything about it, he doesn’t. “It’s good to have you chill out instead.”

Zayn gives a small smile. It feels pained. “Yeah. Should do more often.”

Anthony’s grin grows, “You should. You definitely should.”

Zayn raises his brows simultaneously and drops them just as fast before drinking a bit more of his beer. Anthony’s distracted by an order and Zayn starts to drum his fingers on the wooden counter top. 

He’s antsy. His knee is bopping up and down. His mind could be spiralling out of control, too, he doesn’t know anymore. What he does know, though, is that when he looks at Anthony, Zayn feels something burning in the back of his head, at the tip of his tongue. _He’s gotta know he’s gotta know he’s gotta know…_

So, when Anthony’s done filling beers and opts to clean the bench over on Zayn’s side, he blurts out:

“D’ya reckon—?“ Zayn stops himself. His sentence, his knee, his fingers. He blinks, his voice loud, uncharacteristically so. But Anthony’s full attention is on him now, eyes widened a little in question. “Do you, uh, think that maybe… We could hang out after here? At yours? For a bit?”

It’s disjointed and awkward and he doesn’t even ask what he really wants but Anthony’s face sort of melts with joy. 

“Aw, man.” He says, eyes soft, “You really do wanna chill more often, then?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, but Zayn nods at a loss, anyway. “Of course, dude. Anytime, anytime. We’ll be finished soon, I think, and I’ve got some beers in the fridge at home, too.”

Zayn clears his throat, nods some more, “Cool.”

He wipes his palm that’s now become sweaty on the material of his jeans and then has some more of his beer. He doesn’t bloody know why he’s so nervous. How many Louis’ are there out in the world? How many are there just in Europe? Countless, Zayn assumes. 

So why is he so stressed?

_

 

He’s just about finished his third beer by the time the last person leaves the bar. Anthony sighs, shoulders going with the movement. He’s over at the tables, collecting empty glasses. Zayn would help, usually, but right now he feels as though he’s been permanently bolted to the one stool he hasn’t left since he sat down. 

It’s only been about ten minutes but he thinks he’s gone through a thousand scenarios, scolded at himself for over-thinking, and then repeated the process too many times he’s gone numb from it. It’s frustrating, actually. He went quite a while where he hadn’t seemed so insane, where he seemed like he was getting better, doing well. 

This is just a fucking spanner in the works, isn’t it?

“Right,” Anthony says, slapping his hands together as he turns on the dishwasher, “Ready to go?” 

“Oh, uh,” Zayn mumbles, then looks down at his beer. He throws back the rest of it and swallows with a dry throat. He doesn’t miss the way Anthony’s mouth twists a bit, watching and staring down the uncleaned glass. Zayn points towards the bathroom lamely, not meeting Anthony’s eyes. “‘M just gonna…”

Anthony lets out a small laugh, Zayn’s eyes flick to him. “I do have a bathroom at my house, you know.”

It takes a few seconds for Zayn to pick his mouth up into a smile, “Right. Yeah.”

Anthony laughs again, walks around the bar to grab Zayn’s shoulder as Zayn finds movement in his legs and slides off the steel, “How many ‘ave you had?”

“Not many,” Zayn shakes his head, allowing them both to walk. He decides to leave his guitar here overnight. “Just… far away. A bit, I think.”

Anthony gives him a knowing smile, “Not too different, then, yeah?” He slaps his shoulder and they leave the bar, hand leaving him so he can close the door and lock up. “I’m really happy you’re coming out of your shell a bit more, lately.”

Zayn sniffs. The air is cold and but the nerves in his system don’t cool down. He feels as though he could produce steam. It’s an odd thought. 

“S’taken a while, hasn't it?” Zayn replies once he realises Anthony's looking at him. He sort of feels bad, leading him on in a way. He does like Anthony, he thinks he’d go crazy without him here, but he doesn’t think they’re friends that have a deeper connection, or a relationship Zayn couldn’t go without. But he also thinks that’s entirely, undisputedly on himself. 

Anthony smiles with his teeth and says, “Always better late then never.”

He can’t help but wonder. _Is it? —_ Zayn nods anyway and they start to cross the road to Anthony’s house.

Entering it is never a shock to Zayn. His house is like an architectural display home, windows larger than anything he’s ever seen, allowing everyone to see into it, no privacy at all for as long as you’re parading around the living room and kitchen. It’s small, the building probably as big as Zayn’s entire property, but he’s not envy of it. 

“Fancy a beer?” He’s asked once they’re two steps into the kitchen. Zayn nods in response. He glances around, trying to spot an unfamiliar figure somewhere in the house. No luck. He's handed an uncapped bottle of beer and they cheers before taking a sip. “Did you wanna meet Louis? I mean, if he’s awake, of course.” He laughs at a joke Zayn doesn’t get. The question makes him unable to stomach the beer. “I just know he’d be the type to get _really_ mad if I disturbed his slumber.”

Zayn doesn’t try to associate that with exactly how Louis was. Is, still, probably. Fuck. 

“Y—“ Zayn begins, voice choked off by something in his throat. He clears it. “Yeah.”

“Great!” Anthony says, clinking his bottle to Zayn’s again. “I’ll go get ‘im. Wait here.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, Zayn closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply. Maybe, when he moves on, out of this town and somewhere where he can make a living, he’ll try therapy again. Maybe he’ll take it seriously this time, maybe they’ll prescribe him with medication that calms his mind, makes his thoughts realistic, stops his anxiety attacks and episodes, stops his bad dreams. Wouldn’t that be nice. Maybe. 

He opens his eyes when he hears Anthony actually talking to someone. Right, so the visitor’s awake. And, judging by the laugh that came from both of them, he’s awake enough to meet Zayn. He’s not able to hear the other person, though, too soft underneath Anthony’s rambunctiousness. 

Anthony appears from the corridor first, still smiling. He meets Zayn’s eyes. Then the other boy comes into view and everything stops. 

It’s like he’s riding on a rollercoaster, speedily dipping down a steep hill, that’s how fast his heart drops. His eyes light up, he’s sure they do. Because this isn’t someone Zayn thinks is Louis. This isn’t someone that will turn around and be different, or will get mad for calling his name. This _is_ Louis, _his_ Louis, and he’s looking at him, too. 

He’s had dreams of this — hell, he’s had nightmares of this, too — because he’s always thought, everything leading up to this moment right here, is the moment where everything will change. It’s absolutely heart-wrenching and terrifying, but he’s not sure what else he’s leading towards. This is it. This is where they meet again, where Zayn’s able to redeem himself, where he can work on it to the best of his abilities, where he can work on gaining back Louis’ trust, his friendship, everything. He wants back what they had, and judging by the fact that Louis’ here, staying in a town that nobody knows exists, means that he wants that, too. He _did_ seek Zayn out, he must have. 

And if Zayn had no control he'd be sure his jaw would be hitting the floor, his grip that’s now indescribably tight around the neck of his bottle would loosen and it’d go crashing to the floor along with it. His arms would be wrapped around Louis in a second, breathing him in and kissing his hair. He’d cry, too. He’d cry with relief, with guilt, with sadness and he’d apologise a thousand times over. 

But he does have control, and he doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t know how Louis would react. He doesn’t know if he’d shove him off, if he’d yell at him, if he’d hug him back, if he’d laugh and hold him tighter. The ball’s in his court, now. 

So, he lets it play out, waiting.

Zayn can do nothing but stare. He’s in awe, in disbelief, because it’s undoubtedly, undeniably Louis and he’s _here_. 

Louis walks closer, walks until they’re arms length apart. Zayn just stares and waits. Waits for the inevitable reaction. Waits for a teary grin, a face of shock, an angry pull of the brow, a huge fucking slap to the face. 

What he gets, instead of any of that — is a pleasant smile and nothing but complete and utter blankness. 

It must be the shock, it must be Louis trying to process this just how Zayn’s trying to, too. At least, this is what he convinces himself of. 

He swallows, tries not to bite the inside of his cheek in frustration. Because Zayn knows him. He knows how Louis reacts, he knows his face is incapable of concealment, knows he’s unable to bite his tongue. But yet here he is, face completely barred from any emotion besides politeness, a small smile he gives acquaintances, strangers, and he’s not saying anything at all. 

And that’s it. He doesn’t remember him. 

The realisation rips his heart out. 

“Zayn!” Anthony says, the sound of it washing the blood from Zayn’s ears away. Suddenly, his vision is no longer a blurry blackness with Louis alone, everything drowned out and away from reality. He’s brought back into it, yet still unable to turn his eyes away. “This is Louis.”

He’s dressed in grey sweatpants with a cream coloured hooded jumper. His hair is still cut like Zayn remembers it, and he still wears it in a fringe, one that he’s currently correcting with his fingertips. His eyes are pale in this light, and the bags underneath them tell Zayn he had an awful sleep. 

His heart lurches for him, despite everything. 

“Louis,” Anthony continues, oblivious. So completely oblivious. “This is Zayn.”

And then Louis extends his hand to him and Zayn really just wants to burst out into a fit of laughter. This is hysterical, really. Right in front of him is his best friend, their relationship having started when they were just five and growing up together. Between them are countless memories, secrets, stories and jokes that only they would understand. Zayn’s looking at Louis — someone who knows him better than anyone, someone who had such an impact on him that he’s unable to find anyone else that could ever compare — and fucking _Anthony_ is _introducing_ them. 

But Zayn remains impassive. His poker face has been marvellously perfected over the years. Because it’s great. This whole thing is fucking great.

He extends his own hand, placing it into Louis’. He tries not to think about it too much right now. Not now. 

“Hey, good to finally meet you.” Louis says. 

He sounds exactly the same. His accent’s thick, his voice a little husky from sleep. And Louis has no fucking clue. 

“Yeah.” Zayn manages to say. “You too.”

They drop hands and Zayn grits his teeth to stop the lack of contact from hurting. Because that’s all he’s getting. That’s all his ever going to get. 

That thought shoots through him like a bullet, leaves him wounded. 

Fuck. He can’t be here. He can’t be talking to him like this, can’t be near him, can’t be introduced to him. Louis doesn’t know him for a reason. Of _course_ he doesn’t. He’s never been told about him, never even heard of Zayn, never been properly explained about what really happened. 

Zayn’s, essentially, been erased.

And nobody wants Louis to know him.

“Thanks for the beer.” Zayn abruptly finds himself saying, his eyes to the floor. “Anthony,” He tacts on, placing it on the kitchen bench. He doesn’t meet either of their eye’s, doesn’t even wait for a reply as he says, “See you tomorrow.” And leaves.

 

_Louis_

The door shuts behind him. It leaves silence in his wake and Louis just stares after him dumbly. 

“Erm,” He says, blinking away the sleepiness and confusion in his eyes, “Bye?”

“I’m… sorry. About that.” Anthony tells him, a slightly pained expression on his face. He seems just as shocked as Louis feels. “He’s a, uh, interesting character, that one.”

Louis lifts his brows, “Yeah, you’re telling me.” 

He had just woken from a nap when he heard a knock on his door. Truthfully, he’d woken as soon as the front door opened and he heard voices, plural. He’d laid in bed, groaned a little, and hoped there wasn’t some after work party starting when he’d just had the worst sleep of his life. Realistically, this bed was softer than anything he’d probably get at a motel but it wasn’t his own and he wasn’t comfortable on the mattress, in this house, alone, miles away from everything he knows. He tried to sleep, he did. But he failed miserably and it was just a classic first night, really. 

Because Anthony had given him a grand tour of his home, everything from his espresso machine to the artwork hanging on the walls. He’d tried to make him feel at home, too, bringing out set towels and making him a cup of tea and telling him to put his feet up when they sat on the couch. 

Eventually, Louis had felt his eyes droop remarkably. It could be because of the driving, or the hell of a day he had — because before they’d even step foot into the house, the spectators that were viewing them on the street had finally introduced themselves and asked a billion questions, to which Anthony had shoo’d them away good-naturedly and apologised for afterwards — but he thinks he was mostly tired because he’d been listening to Anthony’s entire life story for the past few minutes and it’d been better than any lullaby he’d ever heard. 

So, he audibly yawned, apologised for being so rude, and asked if he could take a power nap and they could resume their conversation later. 

Anthony, being the lovely host that he is, had jumped off the couch and ushered him away, telling him he’d just be over the road, working. But as soon as Louis had changed into his pyjamas, turned off the light and closed his eyes, he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. 

Instead, he had called his mum, told her where he found himself and decidedly did not tell her what happened to his car. After that, he’d texted his mates the same thing, and replying to them all had been enough for his body to give up and he’d been in and out of sleep ever since. 

Cue Anthony’s knock on the door, telling him his friend Zayn is there, one that Louis hadn’t met, and Louis had nodded politely, saying he’ll meet him. Honestly, he was just grateful it was only one person and not a group. He’s pretty sure he had something of a nightmare about all the townies crowding around him at once, calling his name. 

So, he’d left the room, following Anthony, not bothering to dress up or fix his hair or look in the mirror at all, actually. Yet once he’d seen who was waiting there, he immediately wished he had. 

Dressed in a bomber jacket and jeans, stood a boy around his age nursing a bottle of beer, staring at him with brown eyes that could kill. If Louis hadn’t known better, he would have definitely thought this Zayn guy was looking at him with something deeper, something that sort of made his heart leap. It was intimidating and terrifying but Louis kinda liked it, kinda liked him. 

As he stepped closer, Louis almost wanted to shake his head. He couldn’t find one bloody flaw. Yet here he was, just woken up and sleep disgruntled, looking less than appealing for Zayn’s first impression. He’d wished Anthony had given him some kind of _warning_ , like, “Just to let you know, he’s sort of the most attractive person you’ll ever meet, so be weary of that.”

Louis had smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Maybe he wasn’t human. That would make sense, that would really make a lot of sense. 

“Zayn, this is Louis.” Anthony had said. Zayn didn’t look at anything but Louis, his eyes set on him, his face set in a hard line. “Louis, this is Zayn.”

Louis extended a hand to him, because that’s what he’s _supposed_ to do, right? And it made Zayn blink, like he’d been shaken from something, and stared at Louis’ hand instead. Louis had never felt so insecure in an interaction before. Was he doing this wrong somehow?

Then Zayn shook his hand, his grip was so soft, almost like he didn’t want to hold on any tighter in case it might hurt him. Which was bullshit, of course. He was probably just careful not to touch a mere mortal any longer than he had to. 

“Hey,” Louis had tried, making Zayn’s eyes flit to him again. There was something in them, something behind them that flashed. Louis felt his stomach flip. “Good to finally meet you.”

“Yeah,” He had replied, voice soft, so soft. “You too.”

Zayn dropped their hands and Louis had smiled, placing his hands on his thighs as he looked at Anthony. He’d seemed seconds from opening his mouth, beaming at the three of them in a room together, about to ask Louis for a beer or tell a story or introduce Zayn some more, but he never got around to it. 

Zayn had said goodbye, his beer full, and didn’t look at Louis at all before he’d left. 

“Sleep well?” Anthony asks, smiling wearily. 

“Uh,” Louis says on an exhale, just to make sound. He shifts his weight to one foot and combs through the hair on the side of his head with his fingers, “Yeah, yeah. Comfy bed, that.”

Anthony’s smile grows, “Great, I’m glad.” He licks his lips quickly, before shifting his expression into something else, “If it’s ever not, though, my bed’s only a room away.”

It takes a moment before the wheels turn in Louis’ head, connecting. “Oh.” He chuckles, suddenly nervous. The atmosphere takes a different turn, changing abruptly. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he doesn’t say anything. 

The silence is palpable. 

“Well, this is a waste of a beer, isn’t it?” Anthony asks lamely, picking up Zayn’s newly open, discarded bottle. It’s a weak conversation opener, but it works. Louis feels awful for slightly rejecting him without words, but small talk he can do. 

“I’ll have it.” He says, shrugging as he steps forward and takes it from Anthony’s grip, “Hate to see precious alcohol go to waste.”

Anthony hums, “Big drinker?” He asks before taking a sip of his own. 

“Well, y’know,” Louis shrugs a shoulder, smirks a little, “Define big.”

Anthony coughs out a surprised laugh, “Let me rephrase that, actually. D’you have a high tolerance?” 

“A high tolerance?” Louis repeats, raising a brow. Anthony nods and Louis slowly lets the air escape his cheeks, thinking. “Mmm, well, yes, I suppose.” He brings a smile, cocks his head and the bottle in his hand simultaneously towards Anthony, “I bet I could drink you under the table any day.” He takes a sip, tries not to splutter it in response to the way the face in front of him contorts into something incomprehensible. 

“Is that a fact?” Anthony asks, voice an octave higher, brows reaching the ceiling. 

Louis looks back at him, smug, “I mean, you _do_ work at a bar, but _I_ happen to be quite the partier, you see.”

Anthony lets out a laugh. It’s short and its filled with something like endearment. “I hope you’re aware of who you’re challenging right now.”

“Mm, I’m well aware, actually.”

“Beers or spirits?” Anthony asks. 

“Both.” Louis replies without hesitation.

Anthony’s eyes slightly widen with fear, but it’s short enough that Louis would’ve missed it if he blinked. He hides his smile behind the rim of the bottle as he drinks. It takes a moment, but Anthony places his hand on the counter between them. 

“You’re on.” He says.

Louis shakes his hand, grinning devilishly. 

They decide to do it near the end of his stay, at the bar. A drinking competition of sorts. It’ll be fun, he bets. He likes Anthony, he does, he thinks they’d be able to get on quite well. 

He also, in the back of his mind, remembers him telling him about a certain someone that performs there on the weekend. If Louis could see him again, he’d make sure he didn’t run away, make sure they’d be able to have a conversation, maybe even see if they have some sort of connection or if it’s all in Louis’ muddled head. 

The thing is, they saw each other for approximately one minute and Louis’ already intrigued. It’s a bit pathetic, really.

Louis and Anthony end up on the couch, a few beers between them, watching reality T.V. Anthony tells him he doesn’t usually do this stuff, watching this trash, doesn’t see the appeal. But halfway through The Bachelor re-runs, Anthony’s yelling at the television, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. When it ends, Louis turns to him, knowing. 

“You’re hooked, now, aren’t you?”

Anthony looks like a deer in headlights, caught, “No.”

Louis barks out a laugh, which in turn sends Anthony laughing, and it’s nice. 

At about two in the morning, Anthony resigns to bed and Louis agrees, going to his own bed. He sighs once he’s there, though, wondering if this road trip will even be worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://louiswmalik.tumblr.com/post/172123489090)


	4. Chapter 4

_Zayn_

The first day after the shocking revelation that Louis is in fact in the same town as him was spent lying in his bed for as long as possible. 

The night of saw Zayn walking home, his mind replaced by a ghost of it, unable to think. He got inside on auto-pilot and laid on his bed, not bothering to get underneath the covers, and stared at the ceiling of his moonlit bedroom. 

When something completely absurd; just totally unrealistic happens, it’s incredible how hard that is to absorb, digest. How slowly it takes for one’s mind to wrap around, settle down and finally accept whatever it may be. Instead what seems to happen (at least, in Zayn’s experience) is firstly, numbness. The brain, the body, the sense of the earth — numb. It’s a trick because it makes you think you’ve got a hold of it, that it’s not that bad, that you’re impartial and nonchalant to whatever’s happening. Zayn thinks it’s the epitome of the fight or flight response. Except, instead of fighting, his soul’s fleeing  —  away from the situation, away from himself. And it’s left the shell of his body to continue, to perform life to the best of his abilities in the most basic sense. 

Of course, that response is only as instant as it is fleeting. It doesn’t take long for the magnitude of it all to kick in. And once Zayn was left alone in his thoughts, concentrating on one corner of his room, a tsunami wave of emotion hits him while he reflects. 

Louis looked him in the eyes and saw nothing. 

Louis looked at him, shook his hand, spoke to him and didn’t even know his face, or his first name. 

He doesn’t know that Zayn saw him as everything. Past-tense because maybe that will make him feel better, eventually. 

Because he’s got to move forward, doesn’t he? He can no longer use his former best friend as some sort of finishing line, can’t hope that the one day they’d rekindle, that everything will fall into place and be okay, that Louis’ the catalyst of his destruction but also the solution. 

There’s a reason why Louis saw nothing. And Zayn has to respect that. 

Perhaps he was still a little numb to it when his soul returned to his body. He didn’t cry, didn’t lash out in anger, didn’t show emotion at all. He just laid there, motionless, and let sleep overcome him. 

It could be about four in the afternoon when he’d eventually risen from his bed. His stomach cried with hunger and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. And now he’s here, leaning against the counter of his kitchen, cradling a cup of coffee, staring into nothingness. 

 

_Louis_

He collapses in a heap on Anthony’s couch with an exhausted sigh. He lets an arm fall over his eyes, blocking out the light. _God_ , he thinks, _Since when was socialising that bloody hard?_

Anthony had taken him out for the day. They’d gone to everyone’s homes, everyone’s stores, met enough people that would fill a small classroom, heard names that Louis’ already forgotten and ate too much food he thinks he might explode. And it’s not even dinnertime. 

The thing about people who live in such a miniature town is that they love to talk. Louis imagines they would just be fucking ecstatic that there’s new meat to prowl on, a new set of ears they can latch onto, a new person with new stories and a new personality and _shit_. He couldn’t think of anything worse. 

Anthony loves it, though. Louis can see it on his face as he greets every new neighbour, introducing Louis with a grin and looking on fondly as the elders coo over him and the younger ones elbow him playfully. He supposes it takes a certain person to live here and not bash their head against the wall. Louis’ definitely the type of person that would bash their head against a wall. 

They’d just finished talking to one of the guys of the town — an Italian dude, one that owns a pizza place or something, Louis doesn’t know — when Anthony had kept walking down the street, as if by habit, talking to Louis about the guy he just met’s backstory. Louis had nodded and listened, actually quite interested, because they may be a boring bunch but each one of them have definitely had a fascinating life before this, and knowing how they ended up here is amazing to Louis. 

But then Anthony had sort of stopped in his tracks, trailed off his sentence and pulled a face as though he was thinking about something difficult. 

“What?” Louis asked, brows pulled together in question. 

“Nothing. Just.” Anthony scratched his nose, “Not sure whether we should go to this house or not.”

The house they were approaching was quite big. It had a cobblestone path and two stories but the building itself was narrow. Anthony made it sound like it was a murder house. 

“Huh? Why?”

“He’s less… open to meeting new people I guess?” Anthony told him, hands on his hips. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a really cool dude, but a little scary when he wants to be. I think, like. He’ll meet you when he meets you, y’know?”

Louis snorted, “What, is he, like, nine foot tall with a bulletproof chest?”

Anthony hummed, “Something like that.”

Louis stares back in dumbfounded confusion but Anthony sticks by his word, apparently, because he's in no way starting to make a move again. Louis shakes his head, slightly smiling at the perplexity of it all and continued to walk. 

“Where’re you going?” Anthony asked, mimicking Louis’ expression from seconds before. 

Louis stopped and turned fully before he looked side to side, pointing lamely behind him, “There’s a…” He looked behind him, the direction he was headed, and then looked back at Anthony, “There’s another house, there. On the end.”

“Oh, yeah.” Anthony said with a dismissive snort. “You remember Zayn? From last night?”

Louis blinked. Of course he did. “Yeah?”

“Well…” Anthony prolonged the word, seemed like he was waiting for Louis to clue on, but he never did. Anthony sighed in defeat, “Well, you saw how he was. He’s not much of a people-person, I’ve learnt that from experience, trust me.” Anthony laughed. 

Louis folded his arms over his chest, “Maybe he just doesn’t like you.”

This set Anthony off more, laughter becoming louder. Once he’d recovered he shook his head, “You're a funny one, Louis.”

And now Louis’ finally alone, just him and his thoughts. Anthony’s decided to work out in his backyard and Louis can hear the music from where he sits. He sinks lower into the couch, he couldn't think of anything worse right now. 

Small town townies are weird. 

_

 

They decide to have a late dinner, since Louis’ still filled to the brim and Anthony’s apparently awful at time management. They don’t eat at the table, just side by side on the couch in front of the television, watching some game show. 

“So, where’re you off to? After this?” Anthony asks, a spoon filled with rice paused between the halfway point of bowl and mouth.

Louis swallows his mouthful and shrugs, “Dunno, to be honest. Boils down to how much I gotta spend on this fucking car.” He lets out a small laugh, “Might be short of money, so. Home, probably.”

“Back home?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, s’probably for the best, innit? Didn’t have the _wisest_ mind, going into this.” He shrugs again, “Bit of a life lesson, though, I suppose.”

“Uh, d’you think you’ll leave as soon as your car’s fixed, though?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, possibly a little too quickly, “Why d’you ask?”

“Just.” Anthony shifts, clears his throat, “Will be sad to see you go, that’s all.”

Louis pauses for a second. He tears his eyes away from the screen in front of him to look at Anthony. He’s not looking at him, but Louis can see the slight pinkness in his cheeks. 

“Aww,” Louis coos obnoxiously, making Anthony stare at the ceiling, a stubborn upwards quirk to his lips, “Are you saying you’ll miiiss me, Antonio?” 

Anthony splutters out a laugh, the colour on his face deepening even more. “Fucking… _Antonio_?” 

Louis grins back. He’s so easy to entertain. Louis feels like his head’s grown to the size of the house.“It fits, don’t you think?”

“Definitely not.” Anthony says, laughter still threatening to spill, “And I won’t miss you. At all.”

Louis gasps loudly, offended. He places a hand to his chest and puts on his best shocked expression. But that’s all it takes to make Anthony almost _chortle_ at him. It’s a successful night. 

 

_Zayn_

It’s around five o’clock the next day when he hears a knock on his door. 

He’s currently lounging on the living room chair side-on, back leaning against one uncomfortable armchair while his feet dangle off the other. He’s got his headphones in, the type that nestle into his ear, connecting to his phone that has limited music but music all the same. 

His eyes open at the unanticipated sound. The knock was hesitant, but loud. He pauses his music, waits for a moment, waits for Anthony's usual call or one of the elders telling him they’re outside. It never comes, though, instead he’s met with another knock, this one louder, confident. 

Zayn’s eyebrows pull together, swinging his legs to the front of the chair and taking out his earbuds. He holds his phone as he walks towards the door, mind sluggish with the slowness of his day affecting him. He’s done absolutely nothing. Zilch. 

It wouldn’t be as tragic to him normally, but there’s a heaviness on his shoulders now, weighing him down and pressing into his bones. He has a nagging thought in the back of his head, yelling at him and arguing with another part of his conscience. His skin itches but a scratch won’t fix it; it’s underneath, making him jittery, making him feel like he should be doing something. 

Because things here have changed, haven’t they?

Suddenly, the knock comes yet again and Zayn turns the doorknob, yanking the door at the impatient noise. 

His face remains the same but his mind’s turned to mush as he meets Louis’ eyes, his fist paused in the air. 

“ _Finally_ ,” Louis breathes, rolling his eyes dramatically and lowering his fist. He meets Zayn’s stunned gaze and gives him a smile, silently telling Zayn he’s joking. But Zayn can only stare. Louis’ fringe sits low on his face, making him look shaggier than usual. The bags underneath his eyes have lessoned, his eyes themselves looking livelier. He’s dressed in a zipped-up white jumper and black jeans, something that makes Zayn feel slightly underdressed in his ratty singlet and grey joggers. From the lack of words on Zayn’s part, Louis starts to get fidgety. He raises his brows and widens his eyes as his lips form into a tight line, feet rocking back and forth, hands laced together in front of his stomach. “So.” He says, stopping his movements and looking passed Zayn’s shoulder to inside, “May I come in?”

The reply’s instant, “No.”

Seeing Louis’ face fall sends a pang to Zayn’s gut. It only lasts a split-second, before Louis' fixing his expression into something like disgust. 

He’s still a perfect actor, Zayn sees. 

“Well, that’s quite rude of you, don’t you think?” His arms are folded over his chest, now, looking at Zayn almost challengingly, searching for a comeback. 

He wishes Louis would’ve stopped doing things like that already. Especially if he’s travelling alone. Someone might not be so kind. 

Zayn almost gnaws his lip with worry. 

“I don’t think so.” Is what Zayn settles on, face remaining expressionless. 

He expects the scoff when it comes. It’s filled with surprise and annoyance — he always hated it most when people don’t take the bait or pass it off as though they don’t care. 

“You really are the odd one out, here, aren’t you?” Louis asks with a questioning glare. It’s supposed to come with malice, one that shows Zayn he’s offended, hurt. Something that’s supposed to hurt Zayn back. 

But Zayn replies with an unfazed, “Guess I am.” And leaves it at that.

Louis drops his arms in defeat, huffing. He turns, only slightly, as if heading towards the porch steps, but he turns back in the next second, and points at him. 

“You _do_ realise the others are more than welcoming and polite and you’re the only one here that’s a dick, right?”

Zayn feels the words sting but he presses it down. _Later_ , he reminds himself. 

He can't help but tense his jaw, though, and when he talks next it almost sounds muffled by teeth. “Go hang with them, then.”

And he shuts the door. 

 

_Louis_

“What is _wrong_ with him?” Louis questions as soon as he enters the bar, storming in and taking a stool where Anthony’s behind the bar, doing something boring like stocktake. 

“Wrong with who?” Anthony replies without looking up from his book, pen behind his ear as he adds something up with a calculator. 

“Your lovely friend _Zayn_ ,” Louis says his name on a drawl, a roll of the eyes, “I went to his house, right—“

“Wait,” Anthony interrupts, looking at him now, expression bemused, “You went to his house?”

“Yes, Anthony, please catch up,” Louis tells him, earning a snort and a shake of his head in return, “Anyway, I went there, knocked on the door three times before I got an answer, and he opens the door, looking all… unimpressed and perfect-like,” Anthony lets out a small laugh, “Doesn’t say hello, or, y’know, anything along the lines of common courtesy, and I asked to come in, and you know what he said?”

Anthony’s mouth slowly brings a smile, “No?”

“He said—!” Louis stops himself from his dramatic display and frowns, looking at Anthony curiously, “Hang on, was that a no as in you didn’t know what he said? Or a no as in, that’s what you think he said?”

Anthony chuckles, “A no as in that’s what I _know_ he said.” He closes his book and Louis deflates, story ruined. “Look,” Anthony says softly, leaning his hands against the bar, giving Louis his full attention, “I told you that’s just how he is, yeah? Don’t let it get to you, honestly, it’s nothing personal. It took me _days_ for him to warm up to me.”

Louis’ ears perk up at the last sentence, “Days?”

And when Anthony confirms this, Louis drums his fingers against the bar, intrigued. 

He thinks he might have something that will make this stay a little more interesting. 

_

 

So the next day he finds himself in front of the scary looking dark wood door yet again, and knocks. It's noon, so the sun’s out and it all doesn’t seem so gloomy this time. He also doesn’t knock again, thinking that maybe that sort of pissed him off last time, if the way he swung the door open was any indication. 

A few minutes go by and Louis starts to give up, starts to wonder if it’s even _worth_ getting to know this dude. He’s odd, yeah, but he obviously also lacks basic social skills and has zero tact with his words whatsoever. Really, Louis thought _he_ was blunt.

But then he sees the doorknob turning and Louis straightens up, full smile on show. 

Zayn greets him with that same deadpanned face he always seems to wear. It’s all-so charming. 

“Hi!” Louis waves at him. Zayn just blinks. Louis mentally breathes in deep and tries his hardest not to take him by the shoulders and shake him into oblivion. “I just really wanted to apologise for last night.” Louis tells him, half-genuine. “I’m snappy sometimes and I’m workin’ on that,” He laughs a little but gets absolutely nothing in response. He’s sure his laugh quickly turns into something like an unattractive grimace, “So. Yeah. Sorry?”

There’s a short pause between them and Louis suddenly regrets the whole thing. That might have been the lamest attempt at a conversation starter he’s ever said. He just wasn’t prepared for dark eyes and puffy lips. Why the hell is he allowed to look like that?

Zayn eventually nods. Once. “Thanks.” He says. He looks elsewhere, behind Louis, then back, his stare cutting into him like he sees bloody everything; his soul, his thoughts, his intestines. “Apology accepted.”

“Great!” Louis chimes, suddenly trying not to seem flustered. He swallows, keeps his enthusiastic smile. “Can I… Come in, then?”

Zayn’s expression gives absolutely nothing away but his gaze drops and Louis notices the doorknob turning back and forth in small motions, still in Zayn’s hold. Louis realises his own hands are playing with each other in front of him. He stops. 

Zayn doesn’t look at him when the response comes, “No.” And if Louis wasn't so transfixed on the swoop of his eyelashes and the softness of his tone, he probably would felt the rejection a lot worse. “Sorry.”

Then the door shuts in his face yet again. 

Louis breathes in deep, what’s left of his positive façade disappearing immediately. “Well,” He mumbles, licking his teeth, “Least he _apologised_.”

 

_Zayn_

He’s jolted from his nap with a shout of his name. 

“Zayn! Zaaaayn.” A pause. “ZAYN!”

“What the fuck?” Zayn mumbles, because what the fuck.

He knows that voice. Hell, it literally couldn’t be anyone else. But what on earth is going on? Is Zayn still sleeping? Surely he’s not being woken by a continuous string of his own name in different pitch variations by Louis Tomlinson. Not when he’s still in Hillside and not when Louis still fails to know who he is. 

“Are you sleeping, mate? It’s two in the afternoon! Open up!”

Zayn sighs, running a hand down his face. Yes, this is really happening. 

Yesterday was tough. He saw his face again, this time with a sort of willingness and hopefulness in his words and eyes that made his heart sting. He’d apologised, made the move to be as lovely as possible. And Zayn still had to turn him down. 

He’d thought, for sure, that moment alone would knock Louis off-kilter enough to leave and never come back. Zayn was rude, so entirely rude that he knew Louis would label him as a self-righteous cockhead and never delve into any interaction with him ever again. 

He’d thought that’d be the last time he’d see him, forever. Zayn had cried, for god’s sake, for the first time since he saw him.

But, oh, how wrong he was. 

“In case you were wondering, it’s Louis!” He continues, voice muffled behind the door but clear enough to hear inside the house. “You know, the one that was at your door yesterday?” His voice lowers, but Zayn’s still able to make out a, “And, actually, the day before that, too.”

Zayn can’t help but smirk a little. He’s probably plotted five pranks _and_ Zayn’s death. He’s probably got a bucket full of soy sauce from _somewhere_ that he’ll throw on Zayn as soon as he opens the door, followed by a mountain of feathers that Louis plucked from some unsuspecting chickens. 

Or, he’ll just whack Zayn in the stomach and run off, cackling loudly in the street.

Whatever it is, Zayn’s not willing to find out. 

If he opens up the door, whatever’s waiting for him on the other side can’t be good. Whatever scenario, whatever outcome, it’s still Zayn allowing an interaction, a relationship. 

He’s not even sad anymore, just bitter. If everyone can erase him, if everyone wants to erase him, then fine. Zayn can be nobody. He can. It’s easy. 

“ _Christ_ , man.” Louis says, this time more seemingly exhausted, “You can’t be _that_ deaf!”

Then, he starts knocking. 

First it’s about seven in a row. Then a pause. When he doesn’t get a response, he goes for seven more, louder. Zayn swings his legs over the bed, placing his feet on the floor. More knocks come. They’re average, but quick, and as Zayn stares at the wall opposite him he counts to twenty-three before it stops. 

He hears a short sigh, “Fookin’ knuckles hurt, doin’ that.”

Zayn stifles a light chuckle into his fist and shakes his head. Louis must be going stir-crazy here. 

Growing up, they were constantly occupied. Zayn was always content in doing one thing at a time, happy to be by himself and to keep himself busy, always creating, always figuring out something to do by himself. Louis, however, was different. He could be bouncing a ball on his knee, playing a computer game, and holding a conversation with someone, and he’d still complain about boredom. 

Zayn can only imagine how much energy he has being here, walking up the same street, seeing the same people, bursting out of his skin with the need to do something. 

Apparently, getting Zayn’s attention is that something. 

But Louis’ need to be busy and active is just as prominent as he is impatient. And talking to a front door, waiting, doesn’t keep him for long. Eventually, from Zayn’s stance in his bedroom, he hears a loud groan in defeat, and then the sound of the porch steps creaking as feet go down them. 

Zayn sniffs nonchalantly, pulling up tracksuit pants over his thighs. It’s weird, hearing him go. He sort of wishes he’d stay for the whole day, just talking annoyingly as much as he can through the wall. He sort of wishes Louis kept trying, kept knocking, even. Because as much as it is awful, fucking soul-crushing, that they can’t talk, can’t know each other, it’s also nice to be able to hear his voice. It’s comforting, now, knowing he’s only a few houses away, healthy and somewhat happy. He’s up and he’s walking and he’s driving and it’s… 

Zayn swallows the words that flood into his mind and try to block it out. Thinking of him won’t help, will never help. 

_

 

Unfortunately, thinking is all he does. From the moment he woke yesterday from the rude interruptions of Louis to today, as he stands on his back porch just after sunset, he’s thought about him. 

He’s thought about why, mostly — why did Louis decide to go driving, this far away from home, alone? Why did his car breakdown just miles from Hillside? Why did he decide to stay? Why is he here, for a week, in the same place Zayn is? — and he had come to the conclusion on one thing: the universe either really, really fucking hates him, or it absolutely loves him. 

And now he can’t figure out which one it is. Because on one hand, it’s a disaster, an actual shitstorm that Zayn’s in no way capable of dealing with in any sense and it’s punishment in the highest form; being reintroduced to someone you’ve tried so hard to forget. On the other hand, basically, if this isn’t some twisted sort of fucked up fate, Zayn doesn’t know what is. 

The chances of them both being here at the same place, same time, is surely slim to none. 

And that thought alone is why he’s currently on his fifth cigarette, chain-smoking it away. 

Also something that’s dawned on him: Louis hasn’t visited today. 

He’s obviously given up. There’s no reason for him to try anymore, he doesn’t think Zayn’s that interesting to try. Which is good, it’s what Zayn wanted. It’s easier that way. 

But Louis could also have gotten his car fixed earlier than expected and is already on his way home right now. Or anywhere else. Moved on, meeting new people. Zayn wouldn’t know, he hasn’t left his house. But that’s great, too. 

Zayn’s glad.

The cigarette in his hand gets stubbed out on the porch’s ashtray more forceful than he’d intended. He sighs, tilts his head towards the sky. The moon’s out tonight, shining brightly and peering out from the clouds. It’s something he's noticed the most, from living in the city to here. There's a lot that he needed to transition to but something that stuck out the most is how brightly the sky looks at night without the added lights from buildings and the street. It’s so much more beautiful, here. 

He feels his stomach rumbling, a reminder that he probably should get a start on dinner. Probably should go shopping for food, too. Probably should do a lot of things. 

Instead, he flicks open his packet yet again, and plucks out a cigarette, placing it between his teeth. It’s when he’s lighting it that he hears a familiar voice. 

“Bit stupid for doin’ that, don’t you think?”

Zayn stills immediately, the flame from his lighter going out, the stick between his teeth unlit. He doesn't look towards the sound, but he can see Louis slowly approaching from the side of the house. Jesus, if Zayn didn’t know him, he’d probably be fearing for his life. 

“Cigarettes, mate.” Louis clarifies, walking in front of him in order to get to the steps. From here, Zayn’s eyes track him, unable to help it. “Absolute shite.”

He glides up the steps and leans against the pole, facing Zayn. His expression is open, a satisfied smile on his face, a certain smugness, too. Zayn just blinks at him in awe. He just fucking trespassed into his backyard. 

Zayn slowly takes the cigarette out of his mouth and lowers his hand. He looks at his feet, closes his eyes for a few seconds to compose himself, then locks eyes with him. 

“You're in my backyard.” He mutters.

Louis’ brows shoot to his hairline, he presses both hands to his cheeks, “What? No fucking _way_.” 

And, god, he really turned into a little shit.

“Can you leave?”

The bluntness of the question causes Louis to drop the act instantly. He lets out a forlorn, almost disappointing, groan. His shoulders slouch, looking like a petulant toddler who’s just been denied candy. 

“I _can_ , but… Can I just stay here instead? Please? Just for a little bit? I’m going _mental_ out there. Absolutely bonkers, mate.” He points to the general direction of the town in a fluster, looking like he’s in distress, eyes actually _pleading_ Zayn. “Did you know there’s a woman out there who tells the same story every fucking five seconds? Like, yes, love, I do know about the time you and Terry went fishing. I. _Know_.”

Zayn has to try really hard not to let a laugh spill. He does know about Rita. She’s seventy and takes care of her garden better than some parents take care of their children. She has Alzheimer’s and definitely loves her fishing stories. Zayn sympathises with Louis. 

But no. _No_. Louis can’t be here, looking all needy and in anguish and asking for Zayn’s help. He’s meant to be alone with his thoughts, he’s meant to distance himself completely. 

“I feel like we’d get along, y’know.” Louis continues off-handedly, now inspecting the chipping paint on the pole he’s leaning on with his fingernail. The sentence almost leaves Zayn with a gaping mouth because apparently his short moment of deliberation is an invitation for Louis to keep talking. 

Zayn tries to fix him with a cold stare, “You do, do you?”

But of course, Louis’ immune, “Yeah! I mean, look at us. We’re both attractive, young lads who love to be alone! How much more similar can we get?”

“You don’t like being alone.” Zayn says matter-of-factly. As soon as it’s out in the air Zayn longs for it back. This is why they can’t be around each other. It’s too easy to slip up, to accidentally tell Louis something about him that only someone close to him would know. It’d be too easy to forget that Louis doesn’t know him, would be way too easy to slide back into old habits, to act around him like he normally would. It’s too easy to fuck it all up. “You need to go.”

“I don’t?” Louis questions, a glint in his eye, obviously preferring to ignore the second half of the sentence. They both know that Zayn can easily go inside, lock Louis out, tell him to fuck off. They both know that, and they both remain still. “Did you gather that from the fact that I’ve been coming to your house? Or ‘cause you just know me so well?”

Zayn places the cigarette back into his mouth and lights it. He inhales deeply, then blows the smoke out into the air. He looks back up to the moon but it’s blocked by the clouds. 

“That’s it, then? You’re gonna ignore me?” Louis asks, bravado to his words, a false sense of secureness within them. Zayn knows it kills him, being ignored. A few moments go by and Louis leans off the pole, shakes his head. Zayn still doesn’t look at him. “Are you always this cold to people, or is it just me? Do you hate me specifically for some reason? Because Anthony said it only took a few days for you to warm up to him, and it’s been a fair amount of days.”

Zayn pauses at that. His eyes flit to Louis and he’s met with genuine curiosity. He almost seems greatly hurt, too. This surprises him more than anything. The Louis Zayn knows is someone who goes about their day, doing what he wants, saying what he feels, and not giving a fuck about anyone that doesn't like him. Stranger’s opinions don’t matter to him. He doesn't need the world to like him. So this is odd. Very odd.

As he digests his words, he realises he and Anthony must have been talking about him sometime. Whether it was Louis asking about him or Anthony filling him in, Louis remembered this information, thinking it was important enough. Zayn slowly starts to shake his head. 

“I don’t hate you.” He hears himself saying. 

Louis’ eyes drop to the wood on the porch and Zayn sees his brows pull together minutely before relaxing to normal. Before he picks his head back up, though, Zayn returns his gaze to his backyard, unable to hold a stare with Louis’ eyes any longer. 

“So, you just…” Louis trails off, unable to find the words. 

And it’s so absurd. It’s so fucking insane that they’re both here, right now, talking about Zayn’s character as though Louis never knew him. They’ve had chats like this before, with a serious tone quite like this one, but Louis would pinch a dart off him and they’d talk deeply about whatever was happening in their lives. At the end of it, they’d usually hug for so long their feet would hurt from standing. 

But Zayn can’t do that now. And looking at him hurts. 

“You just don’t care to know me, then?” Louis finishes, question pending between them. It’s not said in a way that’s sad, it’s said in a way that makes it seem like Louis’ trying to understand. It’s inquisitive, an attempt at trying to get to know _him_. 

Zayn inhales once more, keeps it in his chest. On an exhale, he says, “No point. You’ll be leaving soon.”

The words are heavy. They don’t fly away effortlessly in the cloud of smoke, vanishing in thin air. They weigh down on both of them, the meaning of it more intense than Zayn had intended. He half-expects Louis to laugh, half-expects him to ask him if he’s okay up there, in that head of his. Half-expects him to make a joke or say something like, “pwoah, is that how you live, then? Won’t give the time of day to anyone who’s not spending the rest of their life with you?” and half-expects him to exhale loudly, to comment on how deep that was. 

But Louis’ always been full of surprises. 

“I am.” He admits, nodding. The certainty of it makes his heart feel heavy, even though he knows this already. “Should be leaving on Sunday, if all goes well. So,” He shrugs, “Best make the most of it then, yeah?”

With that, he taps Zayn’s arm lightly. It’s unexpected and comforting at the same time. It’s familiar. It’s disastrous. 

He looks at Louis who’s now smiling ear to ear. Close-lipped and wagging his brows. He’s expecting a reply. 

Zayn flicks off the ash. “We’ll see.”

Louis’ smile grows and Zayn looks away. “Well, that’s good enough for me!” He starts to walk down the steps, suddenly deciding to leave. Zayn figures it’s his way of letting Zayn know he knows when he’s not wanted and that he’s not socially daft. The porch lights cast his face in gold as he looks up at him from the grass, still smiling. “I’ll see you later, Zayn-who’s-stupid-enough-to-smoke-but-not-stupid-enough-to-talk-to-strangers. Have a nice night!”

Then Louis waves as he’s walking away, and disappears behind the corner of the house. 

It’s not until Zayn brings the cigarette back to his mouth when he realises he’s failed to keep from smiling. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Louis_

So, he’s made progress. 

It’s significantly minuscule and he feels like he’s having to run into fifty inch thick cement walls just for Zayn to look at him, but, progress all the same. 

Last night he’d actually saw something else in Zayn other than the statuesque facial expressions and monotone words. He saw movement, saw Zayn smoking and glancing to the sky and that might not be so monumental but Zayn didn’t seem like he _wanted_ Louis to go. Well, even though he did say it. Twice. 

Anyway, point is, they had a conversation. Zayn cleared up the fact that he didn’t actually hate Louis. And Louis swears he saw the beginnings of a smile when he was leaving. But, that may have been because he was leaving. 

Louis lets out a noncommittal huff as he stirs his tea. 

It shouldn’t even affect him this much. But he just hasn’t met anyone like Zayn before. He hasn’t met anyone that doesn’t care as much as he does, hasn’t met anyone that is unapologetically himself and doesn’t have to fake any niceties or interactions if he doesn’t feel like it. He’s never met someone with such flawless features, someone his age that’s so mysterious in the fact that he gives absolutely nothing away. But Louis’ completely hooked. He has questions, so many damn questions and he wants to know all the answers. 

He knows the answers will have to be yanked from him; that he’ll have to go through fire and storm to get them, yet that’s what makes it so intriguing. 

“So, he should be getting here Sunday.”

Louis looks up from his now thoroughly stirred tea, the steam gone completely. His gaze is met with the back of Anthony’s head, who’s now walking around the kitchen, fussing about. And, right. They were having a conversation. 

“Er, who? Again?” Louis slightly winces, “Sorry, I’m awful. Off with the fairies, I think.”

But Anthony just chuckles and turns to face him. “Travis. The mechanic who’s supposed to be helping to fix your car.”

“Oh.” Louis replies. Then the sentence fully registers, and his brows rise. “ _Oh_. Sunday, you say?”

“Yeah. Told you it’d take a week.”

It’s like a dawn of realisation comes over him. “It _has_ just about been a week, hasn’t it?”

Anthony’s bushy brows become one as he looks at him, amused, “Lou, you arrived on Saturday. It’s now Friday. You do realise that, right?”

The most haunting thing about that statement is that he hadn’t realised that at all. The worst part about it is that he did feel like he was suffocating here, that the people and the routine and the sparseness and the lack of _everything_ was making him spiral into madness. But he hadn’t kept track of the days, hadn’t been counting down until he was able to leave.

He can’t help but realise that’s because of one very reserved boy with calmness in his aura and stories in his eyes.

“You’ve just loved it that much here, have you?” Anthony grins, eyes sufficiently lighting up. 

And, oh. How Louis feels guilty. “Yeah,” He breathes, “I mean, who wouldn’t with a lovely host such as yourself?”

Anthony chokes out a laugh. He waves a dismissive hand, “It’s what anyone would do.” 

He really has to thank him. He should buy him ten rounds of drinks, just to settle his conscience. Because Anthony’s made sure he’s fed, made sure he’s felt at home, made sure he’s had something to do throughout his entire stay here. They’ve played board games, kicked the footie in Anthony’s monstrosity of a backyard, mingled with the townies. It’s been fun, for the most part. 

Sometimes, Anthony’d get a little too cocky, a little too comfortable. Louis’ well aware of Anthony’s likeness of him, and he supposes he hasn’t been firm at all with saying no to his advances, either. But when he felt Anthony’s hand slide from his back to rest on his backside, or rest on top of Louis’ shoulders to start massaging, or moved to his knee when they’re sitting together, Louis’ feels a bit uneasy. It’s simple to get out of, though, just a quick deflection that requires Louis to get up, move away. He’s had to deny a few of his offers to sleep in Anthony’s bed, too, he’s realised. 

That, added with the slow spiral of lunacy — honestly, he can’t believe he was itching to get _out_ of Doncaster in the first place — from the sudden claustrophobia and repetition of the same faces, is what makes the mission of Zayn so alluring. 

It’s almost like an escape, in a way. He walks down to the forbidden side of the town, the quieter side of the already quiet, and he has to try. He’s putting his energy towards something worthwhile, Louis’ convinced himself. Even if that does mean standing out the front of his door, calling his name like some batshit ex. 

Which is why he’s on his way there now, having bid Anthony goodbye, (“Where’re you goin’?” “Zayn’s.” “Oh. Getting anywhere?” “Yeah. Slightly.”) and is feeling good about it. 

But he knocks on the door when he gets there and still isn’t answered. Louis sighs, tilts his head backwards. He tries again, but still no response. Last time, Zayn was out on his porch, looking like he’d just been plucked from a fifties film, all picturesque and almost too artistic-like to be real. Louis has to remind himself to catch his breath around him, honestly. 

The porch is empty this time round. It’s different in the daytime, he can see the small dreamcatcher hanging just left of the door, can see the rocky table on the right of it, accompanied by only one chair. He can see a panel of wood out of place from it’s otherwise smooth flooring, and can see the chipped, white paint of the fence around the entirety of it. It’s nowhere near the same as Anthony’s pristine house. It’s nice. 

He hears the sound of paper being crumpled and his head immediately turns to it. He sucks in a surprised breath at the sight. 

In the middle of Zayn’s backyard lies a steel, small shed. The door's wide open, and it reveals it’s insides completely, with a patch of carpet on the floor and pendant lighting on the ceiling, a guitar in one corner and a music stand in the other. And then there, in the middle of it all at the far end, is a desk with mountains of paper and a pin board hanging on the wall with countless things attached to it. Sitting in the chair is Zayn, his back facing Louis, his hand in his hair as his elbow rests on the desk, his free hand holding a pencil that’s tapping against the edge of his desk in the same rhythm as his foot. 

It’s the most lively Louis’ seen him. 

He has no idea Louis’ here, has no clue whatsoever. But Louis doesn’t want to disturb him just yet, and instead walks closer, silently. He sees the pin board more visibly, and notices a few drawings, a thousand written words, most of them crossed out. He sees pictures, too, but not of Zayn. They’re more like scenery, like skylines, and some of them in particular seem insanely similar to —

“Louis.”

The voice startles him so much he jumps back. He hits the music stand but catches it just in time before it falls to the floor. His heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his chest. He clutches at it, just to be sure. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Louis whispers, catching his breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

But Zayn, forever poised, seems completely unfazed. His back is still facing him and Louis’ almost one hundred per cent sure he never turned around to see who it was, to see that _anyone_ was there, really, and. Louis’ not even surprised. Of course Zayn has psychic powers. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were the one supposed to scare me.” 

Louis blinks. Was that a joke? Did Zayn, wouldn’t-even-show-emotion-if-he-stubbed-his-toe Zayn, just make a joke?

Louis laughs. A bit forced, a bit terrified, too, actually. “Yeah. Right.” He sniffs, steps towards him, “So, uh, why’re you in here? Cool little set-up, by the way.”

There’s a pregnant pause between them. Zayn even stops the scrawl of his pen. It lasts as long as it takes for Louis to do a full 360 degree view of the place about twenty times. 

Then, eventually, Zayn drops his pen onto the desk and he lets out a despondent sigh. “Would you leave if I told you to go?”

Louis takes half a second to think of the answer, “Nope.” He says, sliding his finger along the music stand. 

“What if I didn’t talk?”

Louis grins, glides towards him, “Then I’d have to be really annoying, like, more than I have been. Are you prepared for that?”

“God, no.” Zayn mutters, barely audible. He’s still looking at his sheets of paper and Louis looks over his shoulder at it. The one he’s currently working on has two words, but they’ve already been scribbled out. 

One closest to Louis, though, has a few lines. 

_I need somebody to_

_Love me blue_

_I’ve been doing it wrong for too long_

_I said I’ve been at it wrong for too long_

_I’ve been doing it wrong for too long_

_In the clouds_

_Where the angels sing_

Louis exhales loudly, blinking from it. “ _Wow_. Did you write that?”

He sees Zayn visibly tense. Then his eyes flick to where Louis’ looking, and clears his throat. “Yes.”

Louis didn’t know what he expected to hear. _Obviously_ he wrote that. It’s in his handwriting and it’s right there. It’s also just so poetic Louis can’t really wrap his head around it. It’s also, more prominently, depressing as fuck.

“Well. For someone who’s as cold and hard as a block of ice, you sure do have some emotion hidden there.”

Louis’ an idiot. He’s a stupid idiot and he should have sewn his mouth shut when he had the chance. He looks up to the ceiling, almost gets blinded by the yellow light. He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s about to apologise, but Zayn’s voice cuts him off. 

“That’s not…” Zayn’s frowning. Louis made him frown. “It’s for someone else.”

And then the paper gets hidden underneath all the other papers and Louis should probably go. If he’s made progress, he’s just about ruined it with his nosiness and inability to hold his tongue. But he can’t leave it at that. Not when Zayn’s still frowning. Not when he hasn’t even looked at him. 

“They’re a bit lucky, then, aren’t they?” Louis says, trying to come off softer than usual. “‘Cause that’s simply beautiful.” He tells him, but all it seems to do is make him frown harder. “Really, it is. Is it a poem? A song? You’ve got a talent, Zayn, honest—“

“Please stop talking.”

Louis blinks, swallows his words. 

The silence that follows lasts exactly thirty seconds. It consists of Zayn not moving at all, and Louis simultaneously hating himself and counting to thirty seconds. 

Then, Zayn suddenly moves. He pushes his chair back and slides out, almost knocking Louis over in the process. 

“Easy there,” Louis says with a laugh. He follows Zayn, who’s storming ahead. “Where are you going?”

He gets no response ( _shock)_ and instead meets Zayn outside of the shed. It’s the first time Louis’ seen Zayn’s face front-on today. He looks especially cold, his usual calm and chocolate coated eyes are swimming with something else, something like a storm. Louis feels a tad unnerving.

“Finished writing?” Louis supplies, voice slightly coming out wavered. Zayn shuts the door to the shed, locks it. “For the day?”

Then Zayn turns, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s about to be talked to, but then Zayn keeps walking, eyes not even acknowledging him. He’s headed towards the porch steps, Louis follows lamely. 

“So, are you gonna show me your humble abode?” He calls out, tries to keep his tone light. Zayn’s footsteps are heavy. “The _mystery_ house?” Zayn’s hand finds the door handle as Louis’ feet find the top stair. “Your bear cave—“

“No.” Zayn tells him, stern. The word takes Louis aback. He’d been so busy watching his step and rattling on like a dickwad that he wasn’t expecting Zayn to turn around. He’s looking at him, a type of fire in his eyes as he stares through Louis, the harshness of his tone enough to make Louis pause, mouth agape, one foot on the porch, the other on the stair. It’d be enough for Louis to nod and run home to Anthony, but Zayn’s not finished. “I don’t know what made you think you can come around here whenever you want. You said it yourself; I’m not like the others. Don’t assume so.”

“Exactly.” Louis blurts out, apparently finding his voice box. He’s aware he still probably looks like he’s utterly gobsmacked, but Zayn’s face doesn’t change. “That’s why I like you, you’re—“

“Louis.” He says, blunt, successfully shutting Louis up. “Just fuck off.”

 

_Zayn_

He turns around immediately and enters his house, shutting the door and leaving a stunned and offended Louis in his wake. He heads to his bedroom, not allowing himself to think, and plonks himself, face-first, onto the mattress.

He groans. It fills the room.

He had to be firm. He had to be. Louis wasn’t _getting_ it. Zayn knows how he is, how persistent he can be, how annoyingly attached he can get. Even when they met — properly, the first time — Louis had latched onto Zayn’s side, physically and metaphorically, and was determined not to let go. 

And maybe that’s why Zayn slammed the breaks so hard today. That, as well as the unnecessary comments from Louis’ mouth. 

“That’s simply beautiful.”

“You’ve got a talent, Zayn.”

And it irks him. Absolutely fucking irks him. Because now he hasn’t just got the ringing of Louis’ praise in his ears, but it’s an echo from the Louis in his past, an exact replica of the words he used to always hear, from the Louis that _knew_ him. 

A certain sensation burns within him, something he hasn’t felt for years, and it’s all because of this. 

He had to be firm. He had to be. If he wasn’t, Louis would have continued, would have knocked on Zayn’s door incessantly, shouted his name like he had done, and come back the next day. And Zayn can’t have that. Not again. 

Because as much as he struggles to come to terms with the fact that he can no longer be in Louis’ life, he also knows shutting him out completely and trying to move on is what he needs to do. This is his closure.

Closure in the most brutal form, isn’t it? Having to see the eyes of someone you care so deeply about, eyes that hold no recollection of you, look at you with shock, hurt, and maybe, underneath it all; disappointment. Because Louis had such high hopes for them, didn’t he?

He could have let Louis sit on Zayn’s porch, waiting waiting waiting. Could have let him off politely like he had done, with simple manners and a vacant expression. He could have, but there’s one thing that stopped him.

He’s performing tonight. He has to, if he wants his fortnightly pay to keep the house. And he can’t go to the bar knowing Louis will be there and having the risk of Louis thinking everything is okay and that conversations between them are attainable. So, now that he’s shattered any hope for reconciliation or another new relationship with Louis, he can go to the bar, perform ten short songs, and leave into the night.

He had to be firm. He had to be.

_

 

Friday nights are apparently rowdier when guests are involved. Zayn can hear it as he walks down the street, guitar not in his hand, having left it there last weekend. He can’t even have a smoke, either, since he wasted them the other night, chain-smoking ’til his lungs hurt. He looks up from his feet and sees the lights on at the bar, hears the laughter and loudness of it all and has the knowledge that somewhere in amongst that crowd is Louis Tomlinson.

Overall, he feels like shit. 

There’s a stabbing pain in Zayn’s stomach, the anxiety over-ruling him, threatening to make him stop and kneel at the side of the road, but he pushes through. 

He pushes through the doors of the bar, too, opening them up and having his eyes fill with the scene before him. There’s chatter and glasses clinking and huge smiles, and in amongst it all, as expected — Louis. 

He’s currently got Anthony’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, Anthony pointing to him as he talks animatedly with the owner of the bar, Randy, who’s laughing outrightly, loud enough to hit Zayn’s ears. 

Louis himself is smiling but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it should. 

And Zayn keeps pushing through. 

He weaves through the small huddle of people, pointedly going the long way, obstructed from Louis’ view — which is pointless, really, since he’ll be on the stage any minute — and goes behind the bar to collect his discarded guitar from its case. 

He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he makes his way to the stage, doesn’t look up when he’s there, either. He just tunes his guitar like he knows how, and plugs it into the already set-up amps. The microphone is already in front of him, ready to sing into, and the world turns black as he shuts his eyes and strums the first note. 

His audience remains to be the backs of his eyelids, afraid of what he’ll see otherwise. 

It’s around the time the second chorus comes to a close, his voice singing about ocean eyes, when he caves and opens his own. He’s never been one for self-control. 

He regrets it immediately. 

All he’s known is an audience that pays him no mind. A river of people that would rather sink in their drinks than acknowledge the air. The backs of people’s heads, the variety of laughter and conversations almost louder than he himself. All he’s known is the lack of those who care, but tonight, standing out like light in darkness, is Louis. 

Zayn misses a note on the guitar. He hopes nobody notices. 

But Louis probably does, because he’s watching him, standing there and looking at him with his brows pulled together slightly, inquisitive. It’s like he’s trying to figure Zayn out, trying to pick him apart as best he can, and when they lock eyes Zayn feels a rush within him. It’s the first time he’s seen something real written on Louis’ face, real like he knows him, real like he remembers. 

Zayn kicks himself mentally. If Louis was going to remember, if there was any way he’d be able to recollect his memories, the sight of seeing Zayn on stage and singing would not be the stimuli that would make it happen. _It’s hope_ , Zayn thinks, _it’s only hope that’s making you see things_. And he pushes it down, pushes it away. 

Their eye contact doesn’t last long, however, never does. Because Zayn’s singing about ocean eyes and Louis’ own are right there. So he drops his gaze and ends the song and doesn’t look back up throughout the majority of his set. Even when he hears Louis’ unmistakable laugh and the volume of his voice progressively getting louder and louder, having moved on. 

 

_Louis_

He’s stupid. 

He’s stupid with his good hair and absurdly long lashes and annoyingly soothing voice and otherworldly cheekbones that hit the light just right. Who knew this fucker could sing? _And_ play guitar? 

He’s stupid.

“Who is?” One of the girls ask, bumping into his shoulder. Louis looks at her. What was her name again? Sarah? Sienna? Sabrina? Fuck, Louis really needs to work on this. 

“Who’s what?” 

“Who’s stupid?” 

“Oh.” Louis says, remembering, and rolls his eyes. He’s gestures lamely to the stage, beer sloshing in his glass as he does so. Zayn still hasn’t looked up. “There. Him.”

She giggles. Why’s that funny? “You mean Zayn?”

“ _Yes_. Obviously.”

She leans in closer, long blonde hair almost touching his arm. “And, Louis, tell me. What could Zayn, the most quiet and kind boy here, do to upset you?”

Louis scoffs for multiple reasons. One, because ‘kind’ is a very generous term to use and two, “I am not _upset_.”

He gets a dead-panned expression in response. Bloody hell, is that a test you have to pass before you’re allowed to move here? If you can look unimpressed and emotionless at the same time you’re automatically a Hillside townie? 

He sighs, realising he’s not getting anything else. “Okay, maybe I am. But with good reason!” He states, and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “I’ve been nothing but nice to him, and I’ve tried to be his friend, but a few hours ago he told me to fuck off, so.”

Her eyes widen, “Seriously?”

They both look towards Zayn. His voice carries out an effortless falsetto that reaches Louis bones all the way to his fingertips. He hates him.

“Yup.”

In the moment it takes for her to say the word “Wow”, Anthony’s already crashed the party, sufficiently drunk after the drinking competition they previously had — which Louis _won_ , by the way, thank you very much — and sidles up beside him, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. 

“You’re the perfect height for a head rest.” He mumbles. 

Louis pushes him off, frowning, “Oh, sod off.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

Anthony and Sienna (?) laugh loudly together. They say something about Louis looking like a disgruntled kitten and Louis would like to leave, now, please. 

And, so, he does. He moves away from the cackling hyenas that seem to find it all the more amusing that Louis’ removing himself from the situation and heading to the bathrooms. Which is probably convenient, because he suddenly feels ill. 

 

_Zayn_

When he looks up at the end of his last song, he can’t find him. 

He searches the crowd, the slight height of the stage giving him somewhat of an advantage, but Louis doesn’t pop out like he knows he would. 

He finds Anthony instead, laughing with Sienna, not a worry on his mind. Maybe Louis’ gone back to Anthony’s?

He steps off the stage, guitar in tow, and makes a move to find its case behind the bar. His eyes can’t stop searching. 

“Zayn!”

He glances up, finding Randy beside him, pouring a beer. Zayn chucks him a smile as he bends down, zipping his guitar up. “Randy.”

“Beer?” He asks, his permanent wrinkles by his eyes becoming all the more prominent as he grins with too much teeth. 

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek. He supposes there can’t be harm done, especially since Louis’ not here anymore. He nods. 

It gets placed in front of him quickly. Zayn sips at it. He sits at the bar, watches the small vicinity he’s in light up with good vibes. It’s a stark contrast of the gloominess and pull of Zayn’s gut. 

He wants to ask Anthony about Louis’ whereabouts. Wants to ask to appease his own mind, but he feels it would insinuate too strongly that he cares. That later, Anthony would tell Louis that he was asking about him. That it would ruin everything Zayn had done hours before. 

He downs his beer. He’s only got tomorrow, he’s only got Saturday, and then Louis will leave by Sunday. He only has to get through the weekend. 

He gets served another beer. He downs that one, too. 

He feels invisible in the small crowd but he prefers it that way. He doesn’t think he’d be able to hold a conversation right now, doesn’t think he’d be able to put on a mask and smile through. 

Because his best friend has arrived, out of nowhere, in the one town Zayn resides in. Because the boy who he’s held close his whole life has no memory of him whatsoever. Because the personification of Zayn’s guilt, love and heartache has strolled into his life and he can’t do anything about it.

Because if Zayn’s just the rain then Louis’ the hurricane and the destruction he leaves behind will be worse than the storm itself.

And, with that, he needs to pee. 

He stands up from the stool suddenly, albeit wobbly. He surges to the tiny bathroom that the townies had just recently put in.

He swings open the door and goes to the urinal. It’s when he’s peeing, that Zayn hears the sounds of weak coughing behind him. 

With a frown, he cranes his neck to look. In the singular toilet stall, he can see the door slightly ajar. There’s two feet on the floor in a position that looks like whoever’s in there is lying down. Zayn’s about to call out, ask them if they’re okay, when he’s interrupted before he can.

“Hey, whoever’s there,” A weak voice says before they spit into the toilet bowl. And as Zayn puts the voice to a face, he has to tilt his head up to the ceiling, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Can y’get me some water?”

Because who else could it be but Louis; currently folded over, throwing up because he’s too drunk? And who else could it be but Zayn; entering the bathrooms at exactly the right time, caught in a crossroads? 

He’d seen this many times before and Zayn just happens to know exactly what he needs — toast, water, a damp cloth and a cuddle. He also needs some soft music, too, Zayn remembers. He remembers exiting the club, the party, wherever they were, and sitting together, alone, after Louis had thrown up his stomach’s contents and after Zayn had helped him, and they’d listen with headphones in or out loud from his phone to songs that helped distract Louis. Oftentimes Zayn eventually found himself sitting there, song playing, and Louis snoring on his shoulder. 

The memory makes Zayn’s legs move. 

He crosses the bathroom with a pinch to his brows. He can’t help Louis. He’ll leave, tell Anthony that Louis’ here, and they can deal with it. 

His fingers rise, reaching the door when he hears a faint, weak, “Please?”

And Zayn closes his eyes, lets out air through his nose. 

Maybe it’s the knowledge that Anthony’s just as drunk as Louis and wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with him. And maybe it’s the alcohol that’s affecting him tonight, coursing through his veins and taking a toll on him more than usual since the only thing he’s been able to stomach all week is coffee. And maybe it’s the fact that Zayn can’t trust anyone out there to take care of someone they hardly know.

And maybe it’s a lot of things. 

But all of them make him drop his hand, turn around, and walk towards the stall. 

 

_Louis_

“Louis?”

Louis’ breath hitches in his throat. Or was that a hiccup? Either way, he feels himself grinning at the familiar voice and looks up, meeting Zayn’s eyes as he stands in the small crack of the stall between the door and the wall, peering over him. 

“ _Zaayn_ ,” Louis sing-songs, eyes blinking. He watches Zayn’s jaw tense without a response. Oh, right, Zayn’s a cockhead. Why did _he_ have to find Louis here like this, all ugly and unwell? He pulls his face into a frown, “Go away.” He says, hiding his face into his arm. “You’re mean.”

There’s a stretch of silence. He wants to kick the door closed but he doesn’t think he has that sort of power behind him right now. Eventually, Zayn talks. 

“You need to get up from the floor.”

How caring and kind. 

“Would if I could, _genius_.” Louis mumbles. “But it’s not my fault small town liquor is filled with Satan himself.”

He hears a sigh. Then, “Let me help you up.”

Louis lifts his head. The world spins but Louis remains amazed. His voice drips in sarcasm. “Whoa, Zayn. _You’re_ helping _me_?”

He can visibly see Zayn getting annoyed. He can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here. It makes Louis feel overly more shit that he already does, to be honest. Maybe if he vomits once more it’ll get rid of his feelings, too. 

“Look,” Zayn says, hand braced against the wall, “Everybody out there is just as drunk as you. Would you rather be stuck here without help?”

_God_ , Louis gushes despite it all, _so_ _beautiful._

He wants to laugh, in comparison he himself must be an absolute _catch_ right now. 

“Yes, actually, I would.” Louis verbalises, batting his eyelashes mockingly. Zayn tenses his jaw again. Louis tries to look him in the eyes with the same amount of power that Zayn had given Louis on the porch, and says, “So, Zayn, just fuck off.”

Then the staring contest commences and Louis sees something flash in Zayn’s eyes (actual emotion) before it’s gone and there’s just an empty gaze burning into Louis’ own. Louis’ competitive streak is the only thing that’s keeping him from looking away. So, it’s when Louis feels round three coming up his throat, he curses at himself mentally and turns to the bowl, emptying whatever liquid is left. 

When he turns back, the bathroom is empty. 

“Good.” Louis mumbles, a certain sourness to his mouth that’s there not only from the regurgitation of beer. “Didn’t want you there anyway.”

He curls up more, his whole body weak as he crouches in the corner of the stall, the faint sounds of the bar muffled by the ringing in his ears. He brings his legs up to his chest, places his head in his knees, and closes his eyes. 

_

“Louis.”

He might be dead, he’s not too sure. His butt hurts and his throat hurts and everything is spinning, even when he can’t see. 

“Hey. Louis.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, a thumb stroking it delicately. He slowly opens his eyes, frowning at the light. 

“Here.” A glass of water is in his vision and Louis could rejoice to the heavens. He takes it in both hands and brings it to his lips without hesitation. 

When he’s taking his first sip, he looks up and sees Zayn looking at him. He’s got his brows pulled together and a twisted downturn to his mouth. Louis ignores him and continues drinking until the glass is empty. Zayn takes it from him gently, face remaining the same.

“You shouldn’t take drinks from strangers.”

His hand is still on his shoulder and Louis eyes him curiously, “What, did you spike it?”

His voice is course, throat sensitive. Zayn just shakes his head, same worrying expression. “But I could’ve.”

“Well, you didn’t.” Louis says, abrupt. “Now, are you gonna help me up from this cold, hard fucking floor, or are you gonna continue lecturing me on what I should or shouldn’t do?”

Zayn’s frown deepens, his hand drops from his shoulder. “I didn’t have to come back.”

Louis could put up a fight. He could argue with Zayn and ask why he’s just so strange and why he _did_ come back but he’s so tired that he settles on sighing instead. 

“Y’right. Sorry.” He tells him, genuine. He looks at the glass that’s still in Zayn’s hand. “And thank you.”

A flicker of surprise dances over Zayn’s face, his brows relaxing and mouth slightly slack. Then he blinks, and it’s gone. He stands up and Louis’ momentarily jealous of how easily he can do that. He tries not to scowl. 

“Grab my hand.” Zayn says, outstretching his arm. “I’ll pull you up.”

Louis looks at him. He looks like a splitting image of Aladdin right now. He tries not to giggle into his hands, and fails. “You’re supposed to say, ‘ _do you trust me_?’” 

The quizzical look on Zayn’s face makes Louis roll his eyes before he’s even saying, “What?”

“Never mind.” Louis tells him, exasperated. He probably shouldn’t be so disappointed in Zayn’s lack of knowledge with Disney references since he wouldn’t even know them if it weren’t for Harry. 

Ah, Harry. He wonders what he’s doing.

He grabs Zayn’s hand and he’s pulled up effortlessly. He doesn’t know if he should be offended or impressed by that. He ends up being none of those things, feeling insanely dizzy instead. He shuts his eyes for a second, the world spinning way too fast.

Then he hears Zayn huff out a small grunt and feels arms around his side, holding him up. Louis opens his eyes and feels himself on a slant, his whole body weight being held by Zayn. 

“Oh.” Louis says, righting himself. He holds onto the wall for balance but Zayn’s hands still shadow him, “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Zayn mutters. He clenches his jaw again. Why does he keep doing that? “C’mon, let’s go find Anthony.”

Anthony. Loud, clingy Anthony. Anthony who chews with his mouth open and who has wandering hands and laughs at anything.

Louis feels himself pulling a face, “Do we have to?”

He watches Zayn swallow. He becomes transfixed on Zayn’s neck. “Why? Do you not want to?”

His voice is so serious all of a sudden. Louis trails his eyes up to meet Zayn’s. They’re looking at him with a slight furrow to his brows, pupils penetrating Louis’ own in search of something. He’s so serious all of the time. 

“No, I _s’pose_ we can.”

“Well, let’s move, then.” Zayn says finally, “It stinks in here.”

“You stink.” Louis slurs, but starts to make a move anyway. 

He’s stumbling but he feels a certain pressure on his hip, righting him. They exit the bathroom and enter the bar and the sudden noise is just extremely rude to his sensitive ears. He brings his hands up to close over them. He’s guided by Zayn’s hand and one moment he’s looking at his feet, the next moment they’re in front of Anthony. 

“You need to take him home, give him some water, some food, and make sure he goes to bed lying on his side. He’s been throwing up.” Zayn says, voice muffled by Louis’ hands.

And Anthony laughs, “Mate! And you thought you won the drinking competition!” 

Louis drops his hands, “Oh, fuck off, Ant. Your beers taste like piss.”

Anthony laughs again and Louis groans inwardly at the sound. It dies down when he catches sight of Zayn’s face, though, and Louis’ not sure why. He’s too lazy to look. 

“No, you’ll be fine. You’re in great hands, now.” Anthony tells Louis, grinning. He steps over and throws an arm over his shoulders. “I’ll take real care of you.”

The hand on his hip tightens, but when Anthony steers Louis away it slips off and vanishes. He doesn’t bother to look back at Zayn again, already knowing he’s left to go back home. 

They end up at the bar and Anthony says something about staying for a couple of more rounds. Louis just manages to nod, limbs and eyelids heavy. He slips onto a spare bar stool and crosses his arms over the bench before nestling his face into them, and shutting his eyes. 

He hears the party go on without him, hears two people playing pool in the distance, hears a conversation about sport close to him, hears glasses hitting against tables, hears slurred songs being sung. Louis doesn’t know how long he stays like that for, just floating in and out of consciousness, but when Anthony’s patting him on the back and Louis wakes up, it’s significantly quieter and emptier. 

When he slides off the stool and turns around, he rubs at his eyes, yawning. The room is still a bit blurry and Louis can see a figure sitting in one of the booths. When his vision adjusts, he sees that it’s Zayn, who’s already looking right at him. 

Huh. So he didn’t leave. 

“Alright, Lou, time to put you to bed.” 

Louis nods, letting himself be taken away by Anthony’s arm around his waist. He leans mostly on him, but Anthony’s just as drunk so they sort of wobble together, feet struggling to find their way. 

As soon as the night air reaches Louis’ skin, he already feels so much better. It’s refreshing, it’s beautiful and he feels like his mind is already clearer. 

They struggle to arrive at Anthony’s front door but they get there eventually. Keys are apparently not needed, either, because the door is never locked. They crash through the entry and Anthony’s laughing but Louis doesn’t know why. He kicks back the door to close it, but it never does.

Instead, it’s stopped by a foot in between the door and the wall, and it slowly opens again. They both watch as Zayn comes into view, striding in without permission. 

“Zayn.” Anthony says, not so gleeful anymore. “You’re joining us?”

“Yeah.” Zayn replies, then forces a smile. Louis feels himself frowning. He’s so weird. “Thought I’d join you for the afterparty.”

“Not much of an afterparty.” Anthony says with a chuckle that’s slightly off. The arm around his waist tightens, pulling them closer. “Don’t think I’ll drink anymore and Louis here’s goin’ to bed.”

Louis notices Zayn’s eyes zeroing in on Anthony’s hand. The smile’s still on his face but his jaw clenches again. Louis should start keeping a tally of that. 

Zayn shrugs. “Wanna hang out with you more. Remember?”

Then Anthony and Zayn have some sort of staring contest. Is this how people in small towns communicate? Like is this normal? Louis wishes someone would lose soon so he can lie down and stop his body from hurting. 

“Okay.” Anthony says. He turns away, guides Louis to the kitchen. _No no no no_ , this isn’t the right room. “Sit down there, Lou, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Louis groans, sliding onto the kitchen chair. “I don’t want food.”

Anthony blinks at him, at a loss. “Oh. Alright.” He looks around for a bit, “Water?”

Louis already feels his head pounding. “ _Bed_.”

Anthony chuckles. “Okay, babe, let’s get you there.”

If he could, Louis would walk there himself and flop right onto the mattress, falling dead to the world in less than two seconds. But because he’s exceptionally drunk and doesn’t trust his legs at all, he allows Anthony to help him up and guide him towards the guest bedroom. Zayn remains in the kitchen, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and with his usual seriousness. Always so serious.

“Oh my god, yes.” Louis whines once he enters the bedroom, the bed looking like a holy grail. He pries himself from Anthony’s grip and runs as best he can before collapsing onto it and sighing with relief. 

Anthony laughs, following him. He takes off Louis’ shoes one by one, then folds the duvet that’s crumpled at the end of the bed over Louis’ body. He kneels down beside him and Louis looks at him; the only light coming from the doorway behind Anthony’s head from the corridor placing him in a silhouette. 

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep on my bed?”

Louis blinks slowly, eyelids drooping. All he manages is a meek, “Hmmph?”

“Huh?” Anthony asks. His face disappears, replaced by darkness. “Is that a yes?”

Louis shakes his head. 

“C’ _mon_ ,” Anthony says, prolonging the word, “It’s a lot comfier than this, trust me. Will be better for your hangover in the morning, I promise—“

“Anthony.”

Louis opens his eyes at the voice. He sees Zayn at the doorway, arms still crossed. 

Thankfully, Anthony doesn’t say anything more. He stands up and stumbles his way out of the room and down the hallway. The last thing Louis sees before sleep overcomes him is Zayn lingering there for two more seconds before shutting the door, filling the room with complete darkness. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Zayn_

Zayn inhales the nicotine, breathes it out.

He’ll be fine, Louis will be fine. A flash of Anthony’s predatory gaze enters his mind. 

Zayn inhales the nicotine, breathes it out. 

He saw Anthony pass out in his own bed, snoring within seconds. That’s when he’d managed to snag his packet of cigarettes from his bedside table. 

Zayn inhales the nicotine, breathes it out. 

The air’s cold against his skin as he walks. He walks fast, movements rapid. He has nowhere to be but his voluntary movements work injunction to the pace of his mind and it propels him down the street. A lingering sense of guilt weighs there, and Zayn thinks that’s partly the reason why he’s wanting to move away from the situation so quickly. 

Louis’ not even his _friend_ anymore. He shouldn’t feel guilty — he wouldn’t feel guilty if it was Randy he’d left there on the bed passed out drunk — so why should Louis be any different? Because of a lot of reasons, actually. It’s tremendously different.

Zayn shakes his head at himself, throws out the stub off the cigarette into the bushes. “Not your problem, not your problem, not your problem.”

He reaches the front door of his house but thinks better of it, and keeps walking. 

Around the side of his house is a forest, one that leads down the road far enough as the eye can see. Though, it’s not as large width-wise, which Zayn had found out by mistake after a drunken night where he’d wandered off alone. He was singing to the trees, singing to the sky, asking for something back, when he’d wandered too far and almost slipped off a cliff. 

“Whoa,” Zayn vaguely remembers himself slurring, “Would’u look at that.”

Across the bottom side of the cliff views the entire city, far in the distance, but there. It put the stars to shame with how many lights shine throughout the darkness, still buzzing with life even in the early morning. Zayn had shouted over it, over where he used to live, and could faintly hear the familiar sounds of horns tooting and city chatter despite the alcohol numbing his ears. 

He’d slept there that night, his beer bottle discarded somewhere along the way and rock indents on the side of his face when he woke. That was the morning he decided to keep this lookout a secret, something just for him. 

As he looks over it now, he inhales the air, breathes it back out. 

It’s fucked. This entire thing is fucked and there’s no better way to put it.

He sits down next to the cliff, takes the cigarette perched behind his ear and lights it between his lips. 

Louis had been at his most vulnerable there on the bathroom floor. He essentially knows nobody here and has no way of leaving yet he was at his most vulnerable there on the bathroom floor. _God_ , Zayn thinks to himself, _Does anyone know he’s here at all_?

The thought sends a queasiness straight to his stomach. He has no doubts that Louis’ mum, Jay, would have pulled all the stops to make sure Louis was at his upmost safest whilst travelling alone and nobody close to him would let him go a day without making sure he was safe. But he also has no doubts that with Louis being Louis, he would have already placed himself on the highest pedestal possible and done everything in his power to make it seem like he has everything under control.

Which, in turn, could mean his current whereabouts is a mystery.

Zayn swallows harshly, lets the ash fall onto his shoe. 

He’d even had the nerve to give Zayn attitude, _still_ , even though he’d been offering help. Though that might not come as a surprise, it’s also worrisome. Louis could have been anywhere at that moment, Zayn could have been absolutely anyone, and anything could have happened. 

But Louis had trusted him. He unquestionably and fucking stupidly trusted him. He’s a goddamn idiot and Louis should have never been allowed to venture out on his own. 

Zayn inhales the nicotine, breathes it out. 

In a way, it’s almost lucky that it’s turned out like this. He’s not one to say the universe works in mysterious ways but he’s gotta give it to her — this is probably the most unsuspected, chance-filled and mind-fucking coincidence in the form of torture that he’s ever witnessed. 

Because of course Louis of all people had accidentally found the unknown town that Zayn of all people live in, Louis had to stay for a while and took a certain liking to Zayn and Zayn had to be the person that found Louis throwing up in the bathrooms. Because of course, of course… — of _course_.

It comes to him as loud as a coin dropping in a completely silent room. 

It’s a sudden realisation, one that’s enough to make him look elsewhere and wonder what he’s been doing this whole time. 

Maybe _he’s_ the idiot, not Louis. Because the ball’s entirely in his court, now. He’s got the upper-hand in this, always has, and he’s pissed that away like it’s nothing. Louis’ been at him like an annoying fly and Zayn’s swatted him away without thinking about what it all might mean. 

Because, fuck it, it’s gotta mean _something_ , doesn’t it?

Maybe this isn’t some big, cruel joke that’s been so pleasantly bestowed upon him. Maybe this is the biggest lifeline he’ll ever receive, the biggest wake-up-and-smell-the-fucking-flowers that he could’ve gotten. He’s been given the perfect opportunity, and what has he done with it?

Made Louis hate him? Made him hate himself more? Become desensitised to the only thing that’s made him _feel_ something since he ran away?

And Louis’ getting his car fixed on Sunday. Which means Zayn only has one more day to turn this thing around before Louis drives off into the unknown where neither of them will ever become face-to-face ever again. 

Fuck that. 

Fuck Doncaster, fuck the story they’ve decided to feed Louis, fuck it all. 

He has to tell Louis the truth about everything. He has to let it all out and into the open. Louis may gasp and hit him and yell and maybe even cry, but it’s better than him living through a lie. Maybe that way they can restart their relationship, maybe that way Louis might even be able to remember Zayn. He has to try. Starting tomorrow. 

Zayn inhales the nicotine — “ _Shit_ ,” He mutters — and breathes it out.

 

_Louis_

“You make good eggs.” Louis says, voice pushing through the soreness of his throat. He drinks some more juice, his head pounding with every sip he takes. Jesus, what the fuck happened last night?

Anthony snickers, “Cheers. D’you want more?”

Louis shakes his head as he looks down at his half-eaten breakfast. “No, mate, m’good. Feel a bit sick, to be honest.”

“No shit,” Anthony says, the sight of food in his open mouth not helping the state of Louis’ stomach at all, “Though, not sure if you’d be able to throw up again after last night.”

“Again?” Louis asks, frowning and massaging his temples with his fingertips, “What happened last night?”

He’s met with a surprised face, “Wait, you actually don’t remember?”

Louis shakes his head slowly, memory a blur. It’s something he’s used to, Louis thinks bitterly. “I remember drinking my entire body weight’s worth of piss-tasting alcohol and you falling on your arse.” He manages a half-hearted, shit-eating grin and holds his glass up. “So, here’s to me winning our bet.”

He earns a bemused cock of the brow in response. 

“Louis,” Anthony begins, Louis’ glass remaining untouched in the air. “You ended up vomiting in the pub’s toilet, mate.” He laughs. Louis lowers his glass, looks elsewhere, trying to recall. “So, _I_ won, actually.” Louis’ glass gets clinked with another but Louis focuses on a spot on the carpet. 

Flashes of lying beside a toilet, being helped up, ushered out and falling into bed come to mind. 

“Did you…” Louis trails off, slides his eyes back to Anthony. “Did you find me in the toilets?”

There’s a moment’s pause before Anthony nods once, “Yeah, I did. Took you back here.”

Fuck, Louis’ so hungover.

Even the sun streaming in from the windows hurt his eyes. It shines in his peripheral and he’d really love to know why Anthony doesn’t believe in privacy. He’d woken with a pounding head, a full bladder and a rotten taste in his mouth. The smell of food cooking was enough to wake up his senses but rolling out of bed was the biggest mission of all. Alcohol really is the devil.

Anthony and Louis remain silent for a bit, the only sound being Anthony stuffing his face and the occasional scratch of Louis’ fork against his plate as he plays around with his scrambled eggs. 

Then suddenly there’s a click, and the front door opens. 

Anthony looks up from his breakfast towards the door. Louis, too lazy to even turn around and see who it is, watches Anthony’s face fall for a second before he catches himself and plasters on a smile. 

“Zayn.” He greets.

Louis feels his stomach plummet at the name. 

He wants to slide under the table, nurse his head and perhaps live underground for the rest of his life. Why the fuck is Zayn here? Why today? Why now?

He’s pretty sure he still smells like alcohol and vomit and looks like he’s been homeless for eight months. But what does that matter, anyway? Zayn would rather he fuck off. So, this is a great morning, all in all.

“Anthony.” He hears Zayn greet from behind him. Then, shockingly, “Louis."

Louis stabs his eggs with his fork in response. 

“What brings you here on this fine morning?” Anthony asks, a slight challenge to his tone. Louis looks up at him at that. Aren’t they friends?

“Was bored.” 

Louis eats slowly, question marks floating around his head like a halo. Since when in the hell has this kid ever been bored?

He shuts his eyes momentarily. Too many questions this morning. 

“Well, isn’t like you to be up and about before noon.” Anthony states, his voice cheery enough but the tension between them settles right on Louis. “Is it?”

Louis can almost _hear_ Zayn staring him down and he decides to knock back the rest of his juice and rub his hands on his thighs once. “Right, well.” He says, clearing his throat. “Cheers for brekkie, I, er, might have a shower, now. Yeah.” 

Anthony nods to him, “Okay, babe.”

Louis slides out of his chair and keeps walking into the guest room, decidedly not looking at Zayn the whole time but he still feels two sets of eyes on his back as he does so. 

He hears Anthony talking but it’s hushed, secretive. Louis’ just glad he got out of there when he did — he can only imagine what kind of mind-numbing issues small towns might have, like whose turn it is to call the groceries delivery man, or that there’s bird poo on the footpath, or that someone stole someone’s gnome… fuck, Louis doesn’t know. His brain feels like mush.

He enters the bathroom ensuite, starting the shower and undresses before stepping in, letting the warm water wash away the grossness of last night. 

Last night. He remembers rambling to Sienna about Zayn. Remembers watching Zayn perform. Remembers beer after beer after beer. That’s where it just about ends, about as far as it goes. Louis sighs, he’s never drinking again. 

He washes his body as best he can; washes off the sick that’s in his hair, the grime and dirt from the bathroom stall, the stench of beer. Despite the deep sleep he had, hopping out of the shower and towelling off makes him feel exhausted, eyelids heavy. He could really go a nice nap and a warm hug from Niall right now. 

“You’ve never, like, been this way before.” Anthony’s muffled voice is heard through the walls. “It’s sorta… I don’t know, weirding me out, man.”

Louis tries to listen as he dresses slowly. No response from Zayn comes. It sort of warms him a little, knowing he’s not a statue just to Louis. 

“I know you’re not just here to hang out, dude.” Anthony continues, voice softer this time, breathing out. Louis places his ear up against the door. “What’s wrong, Zayn? You can tell me.”

Louis frowns. He steps away from the door, the situation feeling all a little too personal for eaves-dropping, and presses his lips together. Something must be going on, then. Something’s wrong, Zayn’s sad, and Louis’ here, preventing them from talking because Louis’ just some trespasser that’s done nothing but annoy him this whole time. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck. He misses home. 

After he brushes his teeth and towel dries his hair as much as he can be bothered to, he leaves the bathroom and goes straight to his phone that’s on his bedside table. 

“What? Why are you asking me that?” He hears Anthony ask while Louis pockets his phone and leaves the room. “Why? Did _you_ want him or something?”

“Ant, he’s not just some—“

Louis stops in his tracks in the kitchen, seeing the fire in Zayn’s eyes only for a second before they land on Louis and extinguish completely into something unfathomable. Zayn’s voice had died out as soon as Louis’ figure became visible. It’s the first time they’ve acknowledged each other, truly, since yesterday and for once Zayn’s guard doesn’t seem to be completely up. 

He’s standing in the kitchen, hands braced against the bench in front of Anthony, who’s sitting down on a stool now looking at Louis, too. But Louis doesn’t look at him, instead feels his own mouth part slightly as he digests Zayn’s expression that almost looks… open, somehow. 

“Louis.” Anthony’s voice comes, tearing Louis’ eyes away. “Have a good shower?”

Louis blinks. “Er, yeah. Yeah, was good, I…” He gestures to the front door, frowns for a second, scratches the back of his head before dropping his hand completely to dangle lamely at his side. “I’m gonna call home? So,” He strides towards the door, keeping his gaze down. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He walks down the porch steps, around the house to where his car sits uselessly and keeps going around the back where a vast area of grass stretches on and on. He considers calling his mum, considers calling Harry, Niall, Liam. He’d texted them this morning, letting them know he was okay but whinging about his hungover state. His inbox has a reply from all four but his phone remains in his pocket. 

He misses Doncaster. He misses waking up in a full house, his days spent walking his sisters to school, helping his mum around the house, hanging out with the boys. He misses always having something to do, someone to talk to that _knows_ him.He misses having more than just one bloody bar, even misses the over-protective and sometimes over-bearing neighbours. Might even miss his somewhat celebrity status, for god’s sake. He just misses it. 

In Hillside, it’s awful. It’s dark, gloomy and the only things keeping it from being unbearable is the majority of upbeat residents — the constant flurry of conversation and smiles from a town that treat each other like family — and also the certain Rubik’s cube in the shape of a person who’s currently in the house Louis’ staying at, but that certain challenge has failed. Quite miserably, if he does say so himself. 

He wishes he could go back, go back before the idea of a road trip came to mind, before he had the nerve to go on his own. Wishes he could go back before he got his license, even, or maybe before he bought his shit-box of a car. Wishes he could go back and never arrive in this shitty town, never met Anthony, or Zayn. 

Zayn, with his dark hair, dark eyes, dark attitude. His beautiful lyrics and breath-taking voice. Why was he so adamant on not giving Louis a chance? How can he be so dismissive, so blunt, so emotionless? And why was he looking at him so differently only a moment ago, with relaxed features and eyes that didn’t cut through him? 

Suddenly a memory of a blurry Zayn crouching in front of him, expression similar to before, flashes in his mind. 

_“You shouldn’t take drinks from strangers.”_

Louis blinks. That memory’s clear in his head, now. A voice that’s undoubtedly Zayn’s, scolding him for accepting his help. Louis swallows. He starts to concentrate. 

Thankfully, that initial recollection starts a snowball of events from last night, and eventually it all starts to slot together and make sense. 

Louis, with his face pressed against the toilet bowel, and Zayn, suddenly there with a glass of water. Zayn helping him out of the bathroom, Zayn still in the booth at closing time, Zayn shutting the guest room door before Louis closed his eyes. The realisation that Zayn was _helping_ him sort of stuns him in place. 

But it also means that Anthony had lied.

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes yet again. “Shit.” He mutters. 

Then his phone rings. 

_

 

He had vowed that he wasn’t drinking again tonight. It came with a pout and light pleading from Anthony, and then a silent look of approval from Zayn.

And, yes, Zayn had still been there after he’d spoken to his mum. He didn’t walk in on any conversations this time, wasn’t greeted with awkwardness, but instead he’d walked back in a better mood (mostly because he’d been passed around on the phone to his sisters and was grinning ear to ear, just glad to hear their voice) and saw Anthony washing up dishes and Zayn casually sitting on the couch, the low hum of the television in the background. 

What he didn’t expect was Zayn to look at him and smile. 

He smiled. 

It was enough for Louis to stop with his hand on the doorknob, his feet plastered to the floor. He didn’t even smile back — couldn’t, because that muscle movement looks so foreign on Zayn’s face that it’s sort of alien. 

It wasn’t a big smile, not like the one Anthony had given him, but the corners of his mouth had titled upwards and his eyes looked kind and his whole face was _warm_. 

Luckily, Anthony had distracted him and asked how his chat was before Louis took too long with just standing there looking like a gaping idiot. But that was when Louis told him he wouldn’t drink, since he’d have to be completely sober in the morning for when he has to drive home. 

“You don’t wanna stay until at least late afternoon?” He was asked. 

Louis’ eyes swooped over before they settled on Anthony’s waiting gaze. 

With an unsettling feeling pressing in on him, he gauged Anthony’s expression. He was hopeful, trying to win Louis over with a nice smile and eyes that beg. He was harmful, gentle, even. 

But Louis had asked him that morning if he’d found Louis in the toilets last night, and he said yes without so much as a blink of the eye. 

Anthony might have _thought_ that he did — since he himself could’ve been just as drunk and the night was just as fuzzy and muddled like Louis’— but Anthony had remembered Louis throwing up. If he wasn’t completely sure about who found him, then why didn’t he just say he didn't know? Or did he just not want to tell Louis it was Zayn?

That last thought struck a chord. He has a blurry memory of Anthony and Zayn frowning at each other when they both got home. He remembered Zayn calling Anthony’s name when he was kneeling down beside Louis’ bed. He thought about the fire in Zayn’s eyes just before Louis interrupted their conversation this morning, the disappointment when Anthony saw Zayn enter his house. Shit, he remembered the sudden curiosity in Zayn’s voice when Louis complained about going to Anthony for help, wanting to know details. 

Maybe they’re not as close as Anthony had made them out to be. 

Maybe Anthony’s been lying to him constantly, and didn’t mean it when he said Zayn had warmed up to him in just a few days. 

Louis’ nostrils flared. He swiped the perplexing and almost aggravating look off his face, though, knowing that there was no point dwelling since there was less than twenty-four hours left of his stay. 

“No,” Louis replied, all too instant. “No, I, uh, I underestimated how much I’d miss home, to be honest.”

He’d chanced a look at Zayn, then, and regretted it instantly. He was met with him fully relaxed on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, legs bent at the knees, one arm on the arm rest, the other hanging around the back of the couch. He’d been so engrossed in the fact that Zayn’s demeanour was completely unprecedented from before to even digest him completely. He was wearing light-wash grey jeans, a singlet that dips down at the neck, revealing the dark, smooth skin there, and a dark green denim jacket with patchwork over the top. His hair had that same messy, dishevelled look that he manages to pull off and it’s all nothing Louis hasn’t gawked over before. 

But it was his face. 

Despite it being his wet dream come to life, it was his eyes that made him inhale all too quickly. Zayn was looking at him still, smile placed, and he blinked, almost in fucking slow-motion, and his brown eyes stared straight into Louis’ soul, still searching, still trying to figure something out, but there wasn’t a fleck of coldness in sight. 

Truth is, it took Louis off-guard. It was strange, it was odd, it was every synonym of the word. He was so used to having to try, try, try with Zayn. He was used to getting nothing in return. He was getting used to hating him with every bone in his body, only because Zayn felt the same. He was used to having absolutely no connection with him whatsoever. 

And, now, as Louis continues to look at him, it’s like one drunken night has flipped the switch for Zayn and they’re suddenly no longer unfriendly strangers.

The problem is; Louis doesn’t deal well with change. 

“Well, look who it is.” He hears himself saying, voice monotone yet strangely high-pitched. He doesn’t bother trying to clear his throat. “Mr _Rockstar_.” He puts on a smile, wiggles his fingers, then drops the act completely before turning to walk towards the dining table. “So! You can sing, huh? You gonna pull a rabbit out of your arse next?”

Anthony snorts. 

“Er, no.” Zayn replies, words slow. 

Louis raises a brow. He spins on his heel to face him. There’s a slight pinch to Zayn’s brows. Ah, there he is. 

“No?” Louis questions. Zayn’s brows pull tighter together. They’re not angry, though, and his face isn’t stern. He’s confused. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

He turns back around and decides to enter his room and pack. He needs to occupy himself, is the thing. Right now his options are Anthony — a newfound liar that Louis’ growing more and more skeptical of — or Zayn. And he’d rather throw up again than have to sit next to him and pick up a conversation when he’s finally looking like he wants to chat and risk the tumbleweed of butterflies in his stomach that will be sure to make him throw up anyway. 

So, yes. He packs. 

It had been about an hour later when Louis had decided to emerge again. Strangely enough, Zayn was still there, still on the couch but with his body curled on it, his cheekbone resting in the palm of his hand as his elbow rests on the armrest. Anthony was in his own room, doing god knows what, and so Louis had taken a seat on one of the kitchen stools, watching the T.V from a fairly safe distance. 

He’d half-expected Zayn to hear Louis come in, turn, and give him a smile again. He half-wanted that, too. He needed to hear Zayn initiate conversation, to maybe give some sort of explanation to this weird fucking scenario right now. But nothing happened.

And Zayn remained quiet the whole time. 

Louis would be lying if he said it didn’t punch him in the gut. 

Maybe Zayn _was_ trying to make an effort? Maybe he’d realised after last night that things could end on a better note? Maybe he felt bad about telling Louis to fuck off? About everything? Maybe he and Anthony spoke and he’d decided to be nicer to him? Maybe he really wasn’t some stormy cloud that showers and dampens the self-esteems of those that try?

It was hard to trust, though, since Zayn had said he doesn’t want to get close when Louis’ just going to leave anyway. And it was just a _smile_. A half-smile, even, which is what _normal_ people do. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. 

Louis’ memory of last night isn’t completely there but from what he knows, Zayn was decent enough to make sure he was okay after being sick. But he was also, most likely, the only one sober. Maybe that’s the unspoken rule of this town? The sober must take care of those shit-faced?

He licks the top row of his teeth, slides further into the stool. 

Anthony’s in the shower, now. Zayn long gone. If one thing’s for sure, he really wishes he’d stop thinking about this headache of a boy. 

 

_Zayn_

Louis’ still mad at him. 

He didn’t know what else he’d expect. He’d stayed in Tom’s house and makeshift clothing store that morning, just one block down from the bar, and saw Anthony cooking in his home. He’d stayed there and saw Louis walking out of his bedroom, the clothes he had on last night still on his body, his hair a complete mess and his eyes barely open. 

He saw Anthony greet him and his face lighting up as he did so. But Zayn waited. He waited until Louis was sitting down, eating, before Zayn left Tom’s and made his way over.

Anthony wasn’t pleased to see him. It was a given that he remembered exactly what happened last night. He remembered the instructions Zayn had given him when he passed Louis over, Zayn staying at the bar all night and keeping an eye on him, destroying Anthony’s chances of getting Louis to sleep in his bed, and not leaving until Anthony was knocked out cold. And judging by the tone of his voice when he greeted him the next morning, he wasn’t happy with Zayn’s sudden interest in Louis. 

But none of that mattered. Because Louis ignored his existence. 

He left, and Zayn tried to swallow the hurt he’d felt. He waited until he heard the sound of the shower running before he began to talk. 

“Babe?” Zayn asked, questioning Anthony’s pet name to Louis with an amused smirk.

Anthony didn’t look at him, just concentrated on cutting his bread. “Yeah, so?”

Zayn lent back, hips forward, arms folded over his chest. “You guys a thing now?”

Anthony peered up at him, eyes squinting, trying to figure out Zayn’s intentions. He eventually shrugged. “I like him.”

Zayn hummed. “So you’ve said.” He mumbled, scratching the hair at his chin. “And he likes you back?”

That seemed to hit a nerve. He dropped his fork onto the plate, leaning back in his chair and looked at Zayn square in the face. “Why’re you here, Zayn?”

This time, Zayn shrugged. “Told you.”

Anthony sighed. He stood up, stacked the dirty plates, cups and cutlery, and started to make his way over to the kitchen. When he placed them all in the sink, the sound of the shower stopped. He sat down on the stool and Zayn followed him, standing opposite him in the kitchen. 

“You’ve never, like, been this way before.” Anthony told him, and concern flashed across his eyes. “It’s sorta… I don’t know, weirding me out, man.” Zayn continued to look at him. Anthony sighed. “I know you’re not just here to hang out, dude. What’s wrong, Zayn? You can tell me.”

His voice tried to come out genuine, kind. But Zayn saw right through it. It was almost mocking in a way, almost daring for Zayn to spill his guts just so all his cards were on the table. 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Anthony pouted, tilted his head to the side. “You’re a bit jealous, aren’t you? Of me giving all this attention to Louis and not you.”

Zayn snorted. 

“What, then?” Anthony continued to prod. He shifted in his stool, leant towards him, tried to look deeper into Zayn’s eyes. “Why else would you follow us home last night? Was it to make sure Louis was alright?” Zayn’s usual solid expression must have slipped because Anthony had started grinning, pleased that he got him somehow, like he found something worth finding. Zayn wanted to smack him. He gripped the kitchen counter instead. “‘Cause I can assure you.” He said, words coming out slow, a glint in his eye, “I treated him _very_ —“

“What did you do?” Zayn asked in a low murmur, eyes penetrating through Anthony’s skull. 

“What? Why are you asking me that?” He asked innocently, smug, his grin never faltering. 

“He was drunk. Passed out.” Zayn stated, drilling in every word, “If you did anything—“

“Why?” There was a pause. Anthony leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest. Zayn stood there, letting Anthony roam his eyes over his body, knowing. “Did _you_ want him or something?”

And it was the glimmer in his eyes, the cockiness of his attitude. The pride in himself for cornering Zayn and telling him “ _gotcha_!”, as though the problem was that he got to be with Louis instead of him. It was the question, as though Louis was up for disposal, like Zayn wanted him for the night, but Anthony ‘won’ him instead. 

He gritted his teeth until they hurt, mind going blank as to what he would do if he’d found out Anthony did anything to Louis’ unconscious body. His voice came out gravelly, sounding like it belonged to someone else. “Ant, he’s not just some—“

But something next to him appeared and his words cut off abruptly. Louis had walked in, unsuspecting and blinking in confusion once he realised what he stepped into. 

Zayn had schooled his face into something more pleasant, something as to not scare him off. 

It didn’t work, though, since Louis left the house anyway. 

He looks at Louis now, reluctantly having come to the bar. He was playing pool for a bit with some of the guys and Zayn could hear him laughing over his own singing. But as the night progressed and everyone became more intoxicated, Louis’ sobriety seemed to stand out more and more. 

He’s sitting in one of the booths, eyes looking at Mary as she tells a story but his mind’s elsewhere. 

Zayn tries not to stare, he does. But when Louis had returned back to the house after calling home and Zayn had made sure to smile at him, even though Louis looked like he’d been told something that caused him to think, Zayn had received nothing in return besides a sassy remark and a dismissive wave of the hand. 

The rest of the day was uneventful, but Zayn didn’t want to leave. Would feel guilty if he’d left, and would feel like he’d let Anthony win somehow. So, he stayed. It was silent and awkward because Louis didn’t want to talk to him and Zayn didn’t want to pressure him so they sat in silence until the sun started to set and Zayn left to get ready for the night. 

But watching him made Zayn come to two conclusions. One, Louis is extremely bored. Two, he doesn’t like Anthony much, either. 

In some weird turn of events, it’s somehow Anthony that’s now the annoying fly and Louis’ the swatter. And if that makes Zayn smile a little wider, sing a little louder, then nobody has to know. 

The end of his set couldn’t come quick enough, and by the end of his last song he’s almost jittery, the nerves within him duplicating. Because tonight’s the night. Tonight is when he’ll spill the truth.

He packs up his guitar and places it behind the bar, earning sloppy pats on the back and slurred words of praise for his performance as he does so. Then he immediately scopes Louis out, finding him in the same booth as before, cradling a glass of water between his hands, completely uninterested. 

Zayn walks over. He catches the eyes of Mary and Caroline first, who were laughing seconds before. Their eyes brighten at the sight of Zayn making an effort to join and he smiles politely at them both. 

“Hello, my handsome hermit.” Mary coos, reaching out to massage one of Zayn’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He can’t help but let his smile grow, and he sees Louis look up at the corner of his eye. “Fantastic set, as always.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

“One day I’ll join ya up there, petal.” Caroline adds, voice loud. “I will.”

Zayn chuckles, “You’re always welcome.”

The women laugh, and then they turn back to continue their conversation from before. Zayn flits his gaze to Louis, who’s looking at him with unmasked bizarreness. 

“Uh,” Zayn says, sliding over to him, standing whilst Louis remains seated. He looks down at the table, scratches the side of his nose. “D’you… wanna come with me for a bit?”

It’s smooth, seamless, the best delivery of all time. He cringes inwardly in his head, and when he doesn’t receive an instant reply, he looks at Louis through his eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction. 

Which is a deep frown with an unmistakably peculiar expression. 

“Uh…” Zayn tries again, wondering if Louis didn’t hear him. 

“Where on earth is Zayn and what have you done with him?” Louis interrupts, voice quick and slightly insulted. 

Zayn feels his lip twitch. He’s seconds from letting out a laugh, too. Instead, he looks up at the ceiling, then lowers his head, shaking it. He decides to look Louis in the eye, “‘M right here.”

Louis holds the contact, still not entirely sure about this whole interaction. He brings the glass to his lips, drinks the whole thing down, staring at Zayn and never blinking. Then, once the empty glass hits the table, he nods, “Right, then. Let’s go.” And slides out of the booth. 

He walks fast when he wants to. Zayn’s known this, but it’s annoying when he’s so far ahead and won’t _wait_ for Zayn at all. Louis’ eager to go, that much is certain, but it’s almost like Louis’ only agreeing to go because he’s glad he’s got an excuse to leave and doesn’t have to feel bad for bailing out early. 

But it’s when they’re both outside, the bar door swinging as Zayn exits, that Louis spins around in the middle of the road to face him. Both his hands are tucked into the pocket of his jean jacket and his fringe flops slightly over his eyes. He looks cold, and tired, but his face is something murderous. 

“So, what’s your deal, then?” Louis asks, cocking his hip to the side. “Why are you suddenly trying to be nice? Trying to make an effort?”

Zayn regulates his breath. He can’t just spit it out, can’t tell him the reason is because he’s realised he’s an idiot and that they were actually best friends a few years ago but Louis doesn’t remember because of the accident that Zayn caused. 

“Did Anthony put you up to this?” Louis continues, talking a few steps closer. “Did he ask you to, what, be my friend for the last day?”

Zayn feels himself frown, “No. He didn’t tell me to do anything.”

Louis lets the air escape his cheeks slowly, widening his eyes a bit before raising and lowering his brows. He switches his weight to his other foot, moves the hands in his pockets outwards so his jacket reveals the white v-neck underneath. “Yeah, well. For some reason I actually believe that, so.”

He’s looking away, obviously annoyed. He wants answers. Zayn steps closer. 

“Let’s sit down somewhere.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, “You fucking hurt my brain, do you know that?” 

It’s without malice, his tone light and Louis turns to walk across the road, agreeing to him anyway. Zayn quirks his mouth into a smile. 

“How is your head?” Zayn asks, a few steps behind Louis as they make their way to the back of Anthony’s house. “Y’know, from your hangover?”

He sees Louis shrug. “Better than this morning. Think anyone’s head would hurt if they were in that shack of a bar for long enough, though.” After that, he pauses in his tracks. He turns half-way to look at Zayn, face slightly screwed up. “No offence.”

Zayn shakes his head, knowing exactly what Louis means. “None taken.”

They continue walking until they reach Anthony’s back porch. There’s four lounge chairs, two on either side of the back door, and Louis decides to sit down on the left side, collapsing onto it with a sigh. He places his arms on the arm rest and bends his leg so his ankle’s propped on his knee. 

Zayn slides beside him, edging forward a bit so his elbows dig into his thighs, his hands clasped together. 

“So,” Louis starts, loud. “I’m gonna put this out here right now, I’m genuinely terrified.”

Zayn tries to scoff, but it comes out more of a chuckle. “Of what? Of me?”

“No shit, mate.” He admits, the right side of his face casted in the yellow light from the roof, the other half in darkness. He shifts so he’s holding his propped ankle loosely. “One day you’re telling me to fuck off, next day you’re whisking me away on my lonesome.” He looks down at where he starts to play with his sock, then back up at Zayn. “I’m definitely about to be killed, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn blurts out, “About that, by the way. About me telling you to fuck off.”

Louis starts to nod slowly, sucks in a corner of his bottom lip. 

“And, no, I’m not gonna kill you.”

Louis releases his lip, lets out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“I just, like,” Zayn leans back, tries to look elsewhere other than Louis’ face, tries to not go back to simple times where they were sitting together and talking about where they’ll go once they graduate. “I feel bad, yeah?” He settles on, the sentence meaning more than what Louis knows. “I’m not usually such a dick. And I was to you.”

“Yeah.” Louis says, shrugging, his expression serious. “Because I was just gonna leave, right?”

Zayn doesn’t know why, but he feels a lump in his throat. Maybe it’s because of Louis’ actual understanding of Zayn’s behaviour. Maybe it’s because Louis _is_ gonna leave. Maybe it’s because that wasn’t the whole reason he’s apologising at all. 

He finds himself shaking his head, looking down at himself. 

“Is that really why we’re here right now?” Louis asks, voice delicate. “So you could apologise?” Zayn looks up at him, sees some sort of sympathy in his eyes. “Because I accept it, honestly.” He fixes his fringe, bounces the foot that’s resting on his knee. It’s only now that Zayn realises he’s nervous. “God only knows how _I’d_ be if some stranger kept pursuing me like I did. And, actually, _I_ apologise, to be honest. ‘Cause, you know what? I congratulate you. For, y’know, not knocking me out.”

Zayn laughs. It’s low and it’s barely there but it pushes away the lump in his throat and it’s so incredible how similar Louis is, even after everything. 

“Thank you.” He utters. 

“No worries, rockstar.” Louis says with a half-hearted scoff, rolling his eyes.

His foot keeps bouncing and Zayn watches it, almost hypnotised. Louis doesn’t know how to act now. He’s blabbering and filling the silence and constantly moving so he doesn’t have to think so much. He’s awkward because they’re unfamiliar. 

Zayn’s nervous for an entirely different reason. He’s got to tell Louis, and soon. But right now they’re sitting on the decking looking out at the open fields that go on and on, a book of history between them yet words are limited for reasons only Zayn knows. 

“Is it a long drive home? Tomorrow?” Zayn asks, fingering a hole in his jeans. It’s a question he already knows the answer to but his mouth’s moving for the sake of it and any conversation is better than none. 

“Yeah.” Louis says, tilting his head back with a sigh and lets both feet touch the ground. The porch lights cast over his neck, show the slight stubble growing over his Adam’s apple. His jawline is so evident like this. He closes his eyes. Zayn swallows. “Two hours, or something.”

“Where’s it?” Zayn looks away. 

“Doncaster.” Louis replies. “Y’heard of it?”

It’s the perfect opening. The perfect way to slip in the fact that, yeah, “ _I used to live there for a few years, used to be friends with a family called the Tomlinson’s, used to know you quite well, actually”_ but there’s something about the delicacy of the moment that prevents him. This is their first actual conversation. So Zayn savours it. 

“Yeah.”

He can see Louis opening his eyes but Zayn makes sure they don’t lock. Louis picks up his head. “You have?”

Zayn coughs out a short laugh, “That hard to believe?”

Out the corner of Zayn’s eye, Louis blinks. “Nah, I just. Like, didn’t think people from small towns like this would know a place like Doncaster.”

In his mind, Zayn kicks himself for the slip-up. “Yeah, well, I…” He sniffs, fiddles with the threads on his jeans, looks anywhere but Louis. His face might even be heating up, he doesn’t know. “I had a friend from there.”

“You did, did ya?” Louis asks, sitting up properly. “What’s their name?”

Zayn wants to say Louis. Perfect opportunity. Unfortunately, Zayn’s not that strong. “His name was William.”

“Huh. That’s my middle name. Funny, that.” Louis says off-handedly. Zayn caves and looks at him. 

_Fuck_. He forces a short laugh to hide the nerves somehow. 

“So, why the past tense, then?” Louis asks as he starts to inspect his fingers. “Lost touch? Had a falling out?”

“Er,” Zayn’s words fail him. He starts to rub at his eye with his finger and look elsewhere. _Baby steps_ , he thinks. “I sorta fucked it all up.”

“How?” Louis asks, his voice interested. His attention seems otherwise, though, looking more invested in his watch. “Did you fuck his girlfriend, or?”

Zayn chokes, “Jesus.” Louis quirks a brow, an upwards tilt to his mouth. “No, I — let’s just say I did something stupid and it almost cost him his life. Now he’s gotta deal with that forever. Was better if I just left.”

“Wait,” Louis brings both his feet onto the chair and wraps an arm around his knees, “You used to live there?” Zayn nods. “And he’s the reason you came here?”

Zayn shrugs. “Just about.”

“Shit. Heavy.” Louis states. Zayn feels his insides seize up. This is way too fucking weird. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

Zayn focuses his attention on his own nail scratching against the wood of his arm rest. “Thought about it. Don’t think I can, though.”

He looks back up and finds Louis looking away. Zayn can tell he has a million different questions, can see them floating around his head. Instead, he merely nods like he gets it. 

“What about your friends, then?” Zayn says, almost meekly, feeling entirely disconnected somehow, “They must be missing you.”

Louis looks at him in question at that. “For all you know, I don’t have any friends.”

Zayn’s bottom lip folds, tilts his head to one side, “True.”

Louis’ mouth splits into a subtle smile. “I do, though. And they do. Text me every day like they’ll die if they don’t hear from me.”

It sends a wave of comfort through Zayn, a type of reassurance. “That’s good.”

Louis’ gaze settles on his hands. His expression melts into a certain fondness, despite the fact that he sighs and rolls his eyes, “I _suppose_.”

“Bet you can’t wait to see them again.”

“Yeah,” Louis admits, nodding. He looks out into the open fields, the distance cut off by darkness. “S’crazy how much you can miss people as soon as you’re away from them, y’know?”

And Zayn digests the side profile of Louis’ face — the small swoop of his nose, the curve of his eyebrow, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the way his eyes look at night — finds himself remembering things from the way his voice sounds, the certain ways he says things, the movements he makes to how he’s grown and the proof that he’s doing fine. He memorises every inch of him, because he’s right there, close enough to touch, but he can’t.

“Yeah.” Zayn says, softer than he should. “It is.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Louis_

His shoulder shakes. It feels like a fucking earthquake and it’s way too early for this. But at least his head no longer hurts, so there’s that. 

He feels the motion again, rocking back and forth. 

“Hey, wake up.” 

Louis blinks open his eyes. He’s in bed, his eyes landing on Anthony. Behind him, there’s another guy dressed in a poncho, his skin white and his hair dyed blonde in dreadlocks, the brunette regrowth personally offending Louis’ eyesight. 

“‘M up.” Louis mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Sorry to wake you.” Anthony says in a whisper, “But Travis is here.”

Louis pushes himself up onto his elbow, his eyes still blinded from the sudden light. Anthony’s hand that was rocking his shoulder slides down to rest on the dip between Louis’ hip and waist. Louis tries not to gag. 

“Who?”

The guy in the doorway laughs, stepping closer. “It’s me, man.” He says light-heartedly, his voice a low drawl. “Here to fix your car.”

“Oh.” Louis says on a yawn. His brain catches up to him. “Oh!” He sits up fully, Anthony moving out of his way. Louis then stands up, arm outstretched. “I’m Louis.”

“Travis.” He grins sloppily, eyes fairly droopy. “But you already know that now.”

Anthony and Travis share a laugh. Louis looks at them both dumbly, blinking. 

He drops Travis’ hand and clasps his own together. “Right. Well, thank you for coming here.”

“S’all good.” He says, his words coming out painstakingly slow. “Anything for Ant, my brother.”

Anthony grins, throws an arm around Travis’ shoulders. “We’ve been great buddies for… how long now?”

Travis shrugs. “Too long.”

They share a laugh again and Louis forces one of his own. He wants to usher them outside, wants to hurry up the process as quickly as he can. He gets to drive _home_ today. 

“How about I make us all a cup of tea and we can sit around for a bit, yeah?” Anthony suggests. Louis tries not to glare. “You’ve had a long drive.”

Eventually, Travis and Anthony leave to go to the kitchen. Louis takes this opportunity to go to the bathroom, have a shower, pack any last minute things and to try _not_ to burst from excitement. 

But when he walks into the living room, he sees the both of them, as well as Caroline and Randy, lounging in front of the T.V, looking as though they’re reminiscing and talking about shit that Louis couldn’t care less about. He feels his patience wearing thin. 

“Hey, Louis, you’re up.” Randy greets, gesturing towards him with a mug of tea. 

“Hey, yeah.” Louis says. 

Caroline smiles sweetly at him. Louis returns it. 

He lingers in the kitchen as the conversation continues. He watches as they all sit around leisurely, sipping their teas and laughing more often than what Louis would deem necessary. He waits until all their cups are drained and sitting uselessly on the coffee table in front of them. He waits some more, his fingers drumming against his thigh, becoming restless. 

It’s not until he hears Travis say, “Oh, everyone, guess what happened to my cousin last night.” when Louis decides to step in.

“Okay, not to ruin the party or anything, lads.” He says, watching all eyes in the room turn to him in surprise, “But hey, Travis, how about we fix the thing you came here to fix so I can get home and you can talk as much as you like. Yeah?”

He sees Anthony’s eyebrows rise upwards. Caroline and Randy just look towards Travis, who, thankfully, nods easily. “Yeah, brother. Let’s do it.”

Travis stands from the couch as Louis sighs with success. Travis asks to be led to the car and Louis eagerly does so. He presents his car and Travis lets out a whistle. 

“Old box you have.” He says. 

Louis levels his gaze but tries to let out a laugh all the same. “Yep.”

Travis pops the hood of the car and as he inspects it, Louis takes in the town. He looks at the bar, looks at Tom’s house, at Carlos’ pizzeria, at Mary’s house, at Frank’s, at what he can see of Zayn’s. He glides his eyes across the road to Randy’s house, at Caroline’s, at Barb's, then Pete and Wendell’s, and then right next to Anthony’s house, Rita’s. 

She’s outside, tending to her garden as usual. She’s watering her rose bush, a pleasant expression on her face. Louis thinks she might be talking to herself. Then her front door opens and Louis swallows harshly at the unexpected sight of Zayn emerging, gardening gloves on and pliers in his hand. 

He watches as Zayn meets Rita, smiling at her despite the fact that Rita seems like she’s spiralling away on another story. Louis feels his heart soften. 

Last night they spoke. They had a genuine conversation, a solidness about it that didn’t stem from saltiness at all. Zayn _apologised_. He shared things with Louis, and Louis shared things with him. It was extremely out of the blue — from how Zayn asked Louis to go somewhere, to the way he acted — and honestly, the weirdest fucking interaction of his entire life, but it was nice. 

He and Zayn got along. They somewhat had a connection. They spoke until Louis’ eyes drooped, still hungover from the night before. They said goodnight, shared a smile, then went their separate ways. 

And now he’s here, in Rita’s front garden tending to roses as the sun shines. 

The sound of his car turning on, spluttering, then shutting back down, snaps him out of his thoughts. 

He turns around, finds Travis in the front seat of his car, bonnet still open. The car turns on again, but the same sequence happens. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks.

Travis locks eyes with him. He slides out of the front seat, walks a few steps towards him. “Car’s dead, mate.”

Louis looks at him, waits for Travis to continue. When he doesn’t, Louis looks at Anthony, but he’s too busy talking to Caroline and Randy out the front of his house to notice. 

Louis gestures with his hands, “So… Resuscitate it, then?”

Travis laughs, shoulders shaking. Louis focuses on the beads at the bottoms of his dreadlocks. He starts to laugh, too, unsure of what else to do. 

Then, Travis speaks. “No can do, brother. Didn’t bring the tools for that shit. Thought it mighta just been a faulty engine.”

Louis stops laughing. 

“I —“ He pulls his brows together, releases them. “Alright, that’s funny. But, look, can we get this over and done with? Sooner the better, and all that.”

Travis blinks lazily at him. “Would if I could, bro.” He turns to shut Louis’ bonnet. “But I gotta get back home and grab my jump-starter. Dunno how long that’ll —“

“Wait. Hang on a second.” Louis feels a fire starting in his chest. “You’re serious? You’re genuinely not having me on right now?”

Travis shrugs. “Dunno what to tell you, man. Think your battery’s flat —“

“What the fuck kind of mechanic are you?” Louis asks, voice coming out as a shriek more than anything, “What is wrong with you? Why would you _not_ think that it could be —?“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Anthony comes into Louis’ view, but Louis isn’t done yet. 

“I waited around for you.” He tells him, now through gritted teeth. He steps towards Travis, points at him. Travis, dopey-eyed and slurred-words Travis now looks more alert than ever. “And you arrive here with less than two braincells to your name and without any help at all?”

“What the fuck happened here?” Anthony asks, bewildered. 

Louis slides his eyes over to Anthony. Fucking Anthony. 

Louis laughs. It’s not humorous. “What happened is that you led me to believe that I was waiting for a reason. That I’d get my car fixed at a low price. That I’d be out of this shithole of a town in a _week_.” He clenches his fists by his side. His eye probably twitches, too. He doesn’t know. “Instead, I get _this_ dumbass,” He gestures to Travis. “Who can’t do _shit_ , and I’ve wasted my time here for no fucking reason at all!”

His voice had grown progressively louder with each word, and Anthony’s eyes grew progressively wider. He moves to reach out tentatively, brushes his fingers against Louis’ arms, “Hey, babe —“

Louis grunts, shifts away from Anthony’s touch. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

There’s a flash of hurt that casts over his eyes, but he recovers quickly. “We can sort this out, yeah? S’just a little hiccup. Stay here for a little longer, we can —“

Louis barks out a _ha!_ and feels himself becoming more and more hysterical. He can see Caroline and Randy’s eyes on him, mouths probably open in shock. He doesn’t care. “You’ve gotta be out of your fucking _mind_ if you think I’m staying with you for one more second.”

Anthony’s body deflates. “No. Louis…”

“Fuck you, yeah?” Louis says, backing away. He looks at Travis. “Fuck you, too.” He breathes in deep, looks back at Anthony. “But fuck you most of all.”

He turns around, starts walking. He hears Anthony pleading out his name but Louis ignores him, keeps walking. It takes everything within him not to turn back around and hit Anthony square in the jaw. 

Fuck him for telling Louis to stay. Fuck him for making him feel uncomfortable. Fuck him for lying about everything. And fuck this town, too. Fuck it all. 

He finds a rock on the dirt road he’s walking on and kicks it hard, watches it roll. 

He knows the townies have all come out of their homes, have all heard the commotion. They’re looking at him like they did the day he arrived, but this time Louis pays them no mind. 

He wipes a tear hastily from his eye. He just misses home so fucking much. He was about to jump back into his car, get back on the road, arrive home in just a couple hours. He was about to see familiar faces again. And now it’s all turned to shit. 

What the fuck does he do now? Call his mum? Ask someone to drive all the way here just to take him back home again? God, how pathetic. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps closely behind him until he hears the accompanied voice that follows. “You can’t walk to Doncaster.”

It’s Zayn, of course it is.

Louis sniffs, refuses to look at him, “You think I don’t know that?”

He hears Zayn speed up his steps until he’s in sync with Louis’ own. “Then where are you going?”

Louis looks up from his shoes in front of him. All he sees is endless road and forestation. He feels embarrassed, feels like a dickhead. He’s walking and he doesn’t know where he’s going but Zayn’s there beside him, asking him softly and Louis sort of wants to scream. 

“I don’t fucking know, I just.” He kicks another rock hastily. “I can’t stay here.” He presses his teeth together. “With him.”

They walk in silence. He can hear birds chirping, leaves blowing in the wind, confused chatter behind him. They reach Zayn’s house. Louis subconsciously slows his pace. 

“I’d, erm… I’d give you some of my battery from my car but I don’t think it would have enough in it. To, like, get you home.”

Louis shakes his head instantly. “No, no. I couldn’t ask you to do that,”He laughs shortly, “Then _you’d_ have to call a mechanic.“ Zayn nods. “Thank you, though.”

“There’s a train station.” Zayn says suddenly. 

Louis looks at him. Zayn’s eyes are firmly on the road in front of his shoes, his gloveless hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He’s frowning, partly because he’s thinking, partly from something else.

“Mm,” Louis hums, depleted. “About a hundred miles away, I’m assuming?”

From the corner of his eye, Zayn shakes his head. Then he’s stopping completely. Louis follows suit, eyeing him. Zayn doesn’t meet his gaze, instead looks sideways. Louis focuses on the part of the lip he’s chewing as he thinks. When he releases it, it’s red and shiny and really, fuck Louis’ life. 

“It’s far, but… doable.” Zayn says. He shuffles his feet against the road, looking down at them before tilting his head slightly and catches Louis’ eye through his eyelashes. “I could drive you there?

“I mean,” Louis says, breathing out with a smile he can’t control. “Yeah! Yeah, that’d be… That’d be a lifesaver.” 

Zayn nods slowly. His face looks pained, somehow, but the shadows of a smile remain. “Cool.”

“Cool.” Louis repeats. “I’ll, er,” He starts to step away, gestures towards Anthony’s house, “I’ll grab my stuff and we’ll go?” 

Zayn, still nodding, say, “Okay.” 

And Louis’ smile grows. “Okay.”

 

_Zayn_

He’s probably fucked up.

He watches Louis walk away, a slight bounce to his step, his pace fast. He’s probably still smiling. 

Zayn’s definitely fucked up. 

He brings his palms to his eyes, scrunches up his face. Why did he suggest this? Why on earth did he think this would be a good idea?

Now he’ll have to sit next to Louis in a car for forty-five minutes. Fuck, Zayn’s _driving_ him. He’ll be in a car, driving, with Louis. 

Zayn drops his hands, wipes his palms that have now started to sweat against his jeans. 

“Fuck.”

There’s no way this should be allowed to happen. It’s an unspoken rule, isn’t it? If Louis knew everything there would be no way in hell that he’d happily sit in the passenger’s seat with Zayn. Not again, not ever. 

Zayn’s a piece of shit, he’s a big, flaming piece of shit. 

Because he’s selfish, isn’t he? He’s selfish because he just had to get in there before anyone else could and make sure he was the one to spend more time with Louis before he left. He’s also taking advantage of him. Because Louis’ completely oblivious and trusting and he _likes_ Zayn. 

No, scratch that. He likes a version of Zayn. He likes the Zayn that he thinks he knows. A perfected front that merely reveals the surface. And after their chat last night, Louis likes him even more. 

Zayn spins on his heel, clasps his hands behind his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

He can’t back out now, though. Louis’ stuck here, and it’s either Zayn drive him to the station where he can get home by himself, or Louis call someone to pick him up and wait around here for another two hours or so. And Zayn’s just fucking inclined to help however he can. 

He escapes into his house. 

Mental preparation is something he hasn’t dealt with lately. Coping mechanisms, distracting tactics and suppression on the other hand is something he excels at. But he doesn’t think anyone could prepare themselves for what Zayn’s about to do. 

He drinks a glass of water, paces around his kitchen, drums his fingers against his thighs, jogs on the spot. 

It’s not long before there’s a knock on the door. 

Zayn opens it and it reveals Louis, holding his bags and giving a smile that Zayn doesn’t deserve. “Ready to go, rockstar?”

Zayn tries to seem normal. “Ready to go.”

Louis turns and walks back down the porch steps as Zayn shuts the front door. He licks his lips, clenches and unclenches his fists. The nerves and the guilt and everything else swirls around in his belly and he wills it to go away. 

He unlocks the car manually and sits in the front seat, leaning over to unlock Louis’ door. Louis opens his and sits down, placing his duffel bag at his feet. Zayn turns on the engine. 

“Well, let me just say, I couldn’t be happier to leave.” Louis begins, propping his elbow up on the window and leaning his face on his knuckles. Zayn reverses out of the drive-way before righting the car onto the road. He remembers to breathe. “Did you hear how Travis let me know he couldn’t do a bloody thing? He’s so stupid, mate, like how does he ever get work is what I’d love to know. Had you met him before?”

Zayn swallows. He mental checks: the car’s fine, the weather’s in perfect condition, his tires are pumped, his brakes are working. He registers Louis’ question, possibly a little too late, and finds Louis staring at him. 

“Uh, nah.” He replies. 

They pass Anthony’s house, everyone inside. 

“I’m more pissed at him, to be honest.” Louis states, glaring at the house as it disappears. “He said he’d known Travis for years and years. He would’ve _known_ he’s a shithouse mechanic, right? And, like, part of me thinks he lied to me about it all just to get me to stay. And me, being the _idiot_ I am—“

“You’re not an idiot.” Zayn slips out. 

But Louis just lets out a self-depreciating laugh and shakes his head, “Thanks. Really.” He drops the elbow that was on the window and places his hands in his lap as he looks at them. “I am, though. It sounds… a bit pathetic of me, actually, but I’ve sorta… never been independent before?” He smiles, leaning his head back on the headrest. “God, that makes me sound like _the_ most daggy twenty-year-old of all time, right?”

It’s strange. Zayn still feels the ever-tightening knot in his chest, the unsettling feeling coursing through his veins, breathing in anxiety like it’s fucking oxygen — yet the sound of Louis’ voice beside him, rattling on, is the most soothing thing he’s heard in years. It’s a confusing juxtaposition of culpability and serenity, and it’s tearing Zayn apart limb from limb. 

“No.” Zayn responds because he has to. “I don’t think it does.”

“No?” Louis says with surprise. “That means something, coming from you. Since you’re all the way out here, all alone and, like, comfortable? I don’t know.” Zayn wants to laugh, bitterness seeping through. Alone and comfortable. “Anyway, point is, I’ve never, _truly_ been by myself before and I guess I just assumed everyone had good intentions. Long story short, I should probably learn to go with me gut more often.”

The main stretch of road is completely bare; they’d have more chance of a woodland creature appearing out of nowhere than another car, and so Zayn relaxes, if only a little, but he doesn’t know how to reply to Louis — “why are you trusting me, then?” “isn’t your gut telling you this is a bad idea?” “haven’t you learnt anything?” — so he doesn’t reply at all. 

With the silence now falling over the pair, he knows Louis’ looking around for something to do, something to say. He knows how much silences irk him, how much he’d rather they be filled with gibberish than nothing at all. Zayn swallows thickly when he notices Louis’ gaze lock onto Zayn’s radio. Or, what’s left of it, anyway.

When Zayn had gotten into his car the day he left Doncaster, tears filled to the brims of his eyes, hands shaking, the radio had automatically turned on. He hadn’t even registered it, the white noise of his mind blocking out any background commotion at all. It’d been a feat in itself that he’d managed to get behind another wheel again, after everything, but he couldn’t think about that just yet. 

It wasn’t until he was on a backroad, driving to wherever it took him, when he’d zoned into the news reporters’ voice filling the car. 

_“And police have been investigating the scene where a truck has collided into a car in Doncaster with two teenage boys inside. Both are alive but the driver is currently missing. The passenger is now in intensive care in an unstable condition. Doctors are saying they’re unsure whether he’ll make a full recov—“_

He’d muted her with his fist, breaking in the radio and watching as it shattered beneath his hand. 

“Thanks for driving me, Zayn.” Louis says, voice genuine, ripping Zayn out of his memory. He’s thrown back into the present, with Louis looking at him with soft eyes and an even softer smile. When Zayn had broken his radio, he thought he’d killed his best friend. Now he’s here, thanking him.

Zayn’s stomach plummets through to the floor, through the car, onto the road to be left a few meters behind. He grits his teeth, subtly tightens the hold on the steering wheel. He thinks about telling him now, telling the truth. He also thinks about the repercussions, knowing that Louis doesn’t take anything lightly, and that he’d probably force Zayn to drop him off in the middle of the road and scream for him to get out of his sight. He can’t risk that. Not here. 

He ends up shrugging. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“No, honestly.” Louis says, finding a knife and stabbing it into Zayn’s chest. “I’m really, like, genuinely thankful we sorta became amicable by the end, there.” He laughs lightly. The knife twists. “Sort of made this whole stay worth it, y’know?” 

Zayn bleeds. He bleeds so much. 

“But, mostly, m’just glad I didn’t have to get any of my friends or family to drive all the way down just to pick my sorry arse up.” He chuckles, shifts in his seat. “Could only imagine the amount of lecturing I’d get from mum. Or worse, the amount of teasing I’d get from the boys.” He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “God, I’m gonna actually _cop_ it when I get there. D’you wanna join me? Help me deflect the evil?”

It’s entirely a joke but the mere insinuation that Zayn could potentially get on the same train and go back to Doncaster settles heavy in the air between them. The faux invitation sends a shrill down his spine. This drive is a lot worse than he’d been expecting. 

He clears his throat in hopes that the lump goes away, in hopes that his voice doesn’t come out strangled. “‘M sure they’ll all just be glad you’re home.”

“Yeah, finally safe and sound and all that.” Louis says with a hint of dread. He pauses for a moment or two, as though he’s unsure whether to keep speaking or not, and then decides to continue. “It’s probably, like, with every family, and I’m sure your parents or whatever feel the same way, but, like, sometimes the over-protectiveness of them gets way too much, like.” He’s talking with his hands, Zayn’s eyes sometimes catching the movement. “I’m not _ungrateful_ or anything, but that’s the reason why I wanted to leave. Just so I could have some quiet, some independence.”

Zayn’s not sure if Louis’ looking for a response, so he just nods. 

“See, like, something happened to me a few years ago, right? Something actually pretty fucked up, people thought I was gonna die… whatever, doesn’t matter. But afterwards, everyone besides the lads sort of treated me like I was made out of, like, fragile China? Or some shit? I know they don’t mean to but, like, it’s pretty fucking overbearing sometimes.”

Zayn’s sure his knuckles have turned white. He can’t even look down and check because his eyes can’t move, too busy locked onto the road ahead of them, needing to be at the train station right this second. 

Because Louis just mentioned it. He brought up the accident, brought up the one significant point in both their lives, brought up the one thing Zayn constantly looks back on, the one thing that has shaped his entire mind, his entire life, the one thing that tears him apart — and Louis’ brushed it off like lint on his shoulder. 

Time passes. Zayn has no clue how long they sit there like that, with Louis leaning back in his chair, looking wherever and doing whatever and Zayn sitting as rigid as anything, steering wheel melting underneath his grip, brain short-circuiting. Zayn has no clue how long they sit there like that, but Louis decides to start talking again. 

“Let’s play a game, yeah?” He asks, shifting so he’s sitting straighter. His voice is determined but there’s a sense of something in it that Zayn would be able to pinpoint if he wasn’t having a literal life crisis. “Are you up for a game, Zayner?”

Zayn lets out a hum of affirmation at the nickname without realising. He can tell Louis’ looking at him, can tell he’d like to place a hand on his arm, his shoulder, anything to make Zayn relax. He doesn’t know whether that’d make things better or worse. 

“Alright, I Spy.” Louis says, drumming his hands on his thighs. “I spy with my little eye something beginning with… S.”

_Ahead, ahead, ahead_. _Keep your eyes ahead._ “Sky?” Zayn croaks out. 

Louis groans in annoyance, lounges further into his seat dramatically. “ _Yes_! How did you get that? Everybody _always_ says steering wheel first, _especially_ when they’re driving.” Then he lowers his voice, gets closer. “Are you a mind reader, Zayn?”

Zayn’s lips quirk up into a smile without his permission. It’s all so sickeningly familiar. 

He remembers the games they used to play when they were in school whenever Zayn knew he’d be collecting an award at assembly, or before he’d have to do an oral presentation in class, or before a date. Louis would snag him to the side, put on a serious face, and say, “Alright, how many different sauces can you name, right now, go!” or, “Zayn, this is extremely important. I need you to say the word ‘dishcloth’ as many times as you can before it starts to sound weird.” And it would help. Zayn would be distracted and it would calm his nerves completely, dulling them better than any drug he’s tried. 

“Okay, your turn.” Louis prompts. 

“Er,” Zayn tears his eyes away from the road. He looks to the side of him before immediately locking back onto their original position. He tries not to let the words come out mumbled when he says, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with T.”

He gets muted silence in response. He’s almost about to flit his gaze to Louis after about ten seconds but then words finally fill the air, “Zayn, you write songs, mate. Are you seriously telling me, that with all of the creativity in that genius mind of yours, you chose trees for I Spy? _Trees_?”

He’s so affronted that it actually manages a small laugh from Zayn. It bubbles out of him like a hiccup. So short and quick but noticeable. “Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye…” Louis trails off, his finger tapping his chin as he scans his eyes around. They zero in on Zayn. “Something beginning with R.”

“Road.” Zayn tries, it stretching on and on. 

"Nope."

He frowns. ”Roses."

"Do you see any roses here, mate?"

Zayn sighs. He does a quick scan of his surroundings. ”Radio.”

"Nup."

“Er… rocks?”

"You're killing me."

"Rearview mirror."

"Oh my god. It's you."

It takes a moment before it clicks, "Oh," Zayn says. He shouldn’t feel the swell in his chest like he does. "Rockstar."

“Exactly.” Louis leans back in his chair, satisfied with something. Zayn can hear the grin in his voice. “Your turn.”

And suddenly, like a bunch of children on a school camp, they go back and forth like that, entertaining themselves with a game that more or less makes Zayn feel a little more normal.

_

 

“So, here we are.” Louis announces. 

They roll up to the deserted station, the carpark nothing but dirt that looks like sand and the station nothing but two platforms without benches or shelter. 

Zayn’s chest tightens at Louis’ words, at their arrival. They’ve made it. 

“Here we are.” Zayn repeats. 

He parks the car and the sound of it running stops, the silence even more present. He chances a glance at Louis, who’s looking out at the station, brows slightly furrowed, his lip caught between his teeth. Zayn’s chest tightens for an entirely different reason — he’s leaving. 

“Um, thank you.” Louis says, voice low, pronounced. He’s looking at Zayn with a genuine smile, one that’s enough to form the crinkles by his eyes. “Again. For, like…” He breathes out, shakes his head and his smile grows. “Everything, really.”

Zayn keeps his emotions in check. “You’re welcome.”

If he were transparent, he’d be taking one more look at Louis and breaking into tears. It’s just fucking overwhelming, having him sit there and be thankful and smiling like Zayn’s a blessing. He could cry, because none of it is true. Not a single thing. They’re not strangers, never were, but Louis doesn’t know that. Zayn wasn’t the “good guy” here, wasn’t Louis’ saviour, he’s a liar. And he knows exactly how it’ll go when Louis finds out. 

“Well,” Louis says with a sigh, opening the door and picking up his duffel bag as he does so. “Better start walking.”

He leaves the car. It’s not until he sees Louis start to walk when Zayn realised that was his good-bye. 

He’s opening the door and standing before he’s thinking, “Wait, Louis.”

Louis turns on his heel, “Yeah?” He's surprised, slightly relieved, too and he begins to walk forward. Zayn can’t feel his heartbeat. But before Zayn can even acknowledge his brain-to-mouth filter, Louis' already talking. “Oh! I’m gonna come back, like, next week sometime with a friend so we can jumpstart my car. Did you wanna… exchange numbers? And that? Just so I could give you, like, a heads up before we arrive?” Louis asks, already fishing out his phone from his jeans. Zayn grits his teeth together, having to pretend he doesn’t already have his number. He takes too long to respond, though, and he watches as Louis’ face sort of falls. “We don’t have to, of course, was just a little thought —“

“No, yeah,” Zayn stutters, blinking. “We can do that. I just don’t use my phone often? Don’t even have it here with me right now…”

“That’s alright, you can put your number in,” Louis says, already handing his phone over to Zayn. Zayn’s hands are shaking slightly, he hopes Louis doesn’t notice. “And I’ll call you so you have mine.”

Zayn nods. He enters his phone number but doesn’t call it. He bites his tongue, his cheek, lets his eyes fall shut. He has to tell him. “Listen, Louis —“

The horn of a train is heard in the distance. 

“Ooh!” Louis says with a bounce of his feet. He cranes his neck to see which way it’s coming from, then he turns back to Zayn and takes his phone back. “That could be mine.” He slides his phone back into his pocket with one hand, his other hand pointing behind his shoulder with his thumb at the station. “Well, if it is, then I guess I’ll see you soon?” He smiles but it looks misplaced. He starts to back away and adjusts the strap on his shoulder. “Bye, rockstar!”

The lump in Zayn’s throat grows, he wants to kick his car. Instead, he leans against it and gives Louis a short wave, “Bye, Louis.”

And then Louis’ jogging away, his bag bouncing against him as the train pulls up to the station. Zayn watches as he crosses the platform, disappears behind the train. His nostrils flare as he tries to contain himself but his vision becomes blurry. When the train leaves the platform’s empty, and Louis’ gone. 

Zayn places his thumb and forefinger at his tear ducts and lowers his head. “Fucking train.” He says with a sniff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO COMING SOON !!!!!!!
> 
> please let me know what u think i value all of ur opinions so much :) love u thanks for reading so far! xxxxx


	8. PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! sorry for the late delay but i've been so busy :( second part is completely finished so i'll return to uploading once a week! 
> 
> IF YOU'VE BEEN READING THIS IN ONE GO NON STOP - THIS IS YOUR MESSAGE TO STOP NOW 
> 
> that's a lot of words my love, get some sleep or relax your eyes! i lov u <3

_Louis_

 

The train smells.

It’s a mixture between old clothing, stale cigarettes and body odour. He’s the only one on the carriage, though, which makes him wonder how long ago it was cleaned. Now he’s wondering whether he should be sitting down on these seats at all. 

He sighs, leans further into it anyway. 

The window’s scratched on the inside, a pathetic attempt at vandalism, so it obstructs his view. Although the view isn’t much; just flashes of trees, some houses, some more trees, and then stretches upon stretches of land. 

He’d called his mum in the car, told her that he’d be at the station in an hour or so and asked if she could meet him there. She had a million questions but Louis had to tell her that he’ll explain when he sees her. Which didn’t exactly go down too well.

In the car, Zayn had been tense. 

He was hardly talking, hardly moving, and Louis could _feel_ his uncomfortableness. It’d be entirely normal and Louis would not have blinked an eye if it’d been the start of Louis’ stay at Hillside, but they got on, now. They had a mutual understanding, a bond. It was completely frustrating, seeing Zayn crawl back into that metaphorical shell, but Louis told himself he wasn’t going back to square one. 

So, he distracted him.

It seemed to work, is the thing. It took a few tries, took a few games, but Zayn had started to relax a little more. It’s strange; seeing someone so normal and cool become so secluded and introverted depending on the day. It was like he flipped-flopped like some out of water fish. Louis just wanted him to stay the same, stay as the Zayn that smiles at him. 

And he did smile at him. 

He’d even made him laugh at one point. Not the laugh he usually does — the one where it’s choked off, dissolved into a cough, one so subtle it doesn’t sound like anything unless you really spot it (Louis always spots it) — but the laugh that fills Louis’ ears, one that comes out slightly high-pitched in waves, causing his teeth to show and his eyes to disappear. It was the best moment of Louis’ life as he knows it, to put it lightly. 

But when they’d arrived at the station, Zayn tensed up again. 

Louis thought that he wasn’t even getting a proper good-bye. He’d thought that if Zayn didn’t do proper greetings then it would be a big ask for a farewell. So, he’d left the car and began to plan out when he’d be coming back. But then he heard another car door opening, and Zayn calling out his name. 

His stomach somersaulted, like the cliché it is, and with all the excitement, he’d lurched into a conversation of his own. He doesn’t even know the reason why Zayn was calling out to him in the first place. 

Louis frowns at himself. He plays with his phone. Zayn didn’t call his number when he put it in. He wonders for a moment if Zayn gave him the right one. He decides to dial it. 

It rings four, five, six times until it stops. Then it reaches a voicemail and Zayn’s lazy drawl fills his ears. “‘Ey it’s Zayn. M’busy, leave a message.” 

Louis snorts. He doesn’t know what he was expecting to hear. That’s the most Zayn-esque voicemail greeting he could’ve ever thought of.

_

 

He hears his mum before he sees her.

She squeals, followed by an excited shout of his name and Louis spins on his heel, facing her. She’s in the carpark, half out of her car, waving sporadically. Louis shakes his head but smiles, walking over to her. 

“Hiya, mum.” He says with a lazy wave of his own. 

She closes the distance between them before Louis could walk over to her and he’s suffocated in a hug, one that pushes the breath out of him. 

“Ooh,” She says, squeezing, “Missed you.”

Louis pretends to gasp for air, making choked-off noises and she releases him, giving him a once-over, making sure he’s all there, or something. 

“S’only been a week, mum.”

She stares him down. “Don’t give me that.” She tucks a piece of hair behind his ears and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Can we go? M’starving.” 

This time, she rolls her eyes. She looks tired. “Can’t I have at least three minutes to celebrate the fact that you’re home?” She picks up a bit of lint off his shoulders and drops it to the ground. “Or am I embarrassing you a little?”

“ _No_ , mum, ‘course not.” Louis reassures with a smile. Thankfully, she takes the heavy duffel bag from his shoulder and throws it into the back seat. 

They end up in the car, the radio a low hum. Louis watches out the window. 

“So…” Louis’ mum begins, turning out onto the street. When they’re on the road, she looks at him expectantly, “How was it?”

He finds himself laughing somewhat humourless. “Bit of a mess, if I’m honest.”

Her brows pull together. Here comes the drilling. “How? Why? You said everything was going well?”

Louis gnaws at his lip. He stops when he realises he’s doing so. “I mean, yeah, that… like, probably wasn’t true.” He nervously looks over and sees her staring at the road, eyelids slightly dropped in a bored, disappointed expression. It’s something Louis’ come to know as the ‘why-is-my-son-such-a-menace’ stare. “You know how I said I ended up at a little town called Hillside?”

“Mm,” She hums, monotone. 

“Well, that part was true. But, like, everythingelseIsaidwasn’t?” 

As expected, his mum groans. She pinches the space between her eyes, then sighs. “So, you weren’t driving to fabulous places? Your camera isn’t broken?”

“Er, no. And… no.” 

She sighs again, lets her hand drop to the steering wheel, “Louis—“

“I stayed at Hillside the whole time!” He explains, “Reason was, the car broke down, right? So, I had to stay there because the person I was staying with said he’d call his mate that was a mechanic and he’d fix it for, like, half the price another mechanic would do it for.” He fidgets in his seat. “And then, the guy ended up coming and he was a real doorknob, mum, like, looked like he was gonna fall asleep on me every time he spoke. Didn’t even end up fixing the damn thing because he ‘forgot his equipment’ or… or something. Point is, I couldn’t drive anywhere, I didn’t want to call anyone to come pick me up, and so I stayed. And got driven to the train station.”

“Right, well.” His mum says, “I knew you destroyed the car—“

“I didn’t destroy it! The battery just needed to be charged!”

“—why else would you need to be picked up? But I _am_ mad at you, Louis. Don’t think I’m not. Never lie to me again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Also,” She looks at him, “Who did you stay with?”

“Guy called Anthony, remember?” Louis says, having told her about it on his first night. 

“Okay, so _that’s_ true.” She replies. Louis slouches in his seat. “Is he who drove you, too?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “That was Zayn.”

He looks out the window. There’s so many buildings, so many people. He recognises so much of this, the roads all familiar to him. He didn’t realise how much of his hometown he has ingrained in his head, knowing each way to his house. From the park they’ve just passed, Louis thinks they’re about fifteen minutes away, now. 

He doesn’t realise how silent the car’s become until his mum starts talking again. 

“Zayn?” She asks. Louis replies with an affirmative hum. “What’s his last name?”

He frowns slightly, confused. He’s so tired and so hungry, his stomach growled at him three times before he got off the train. He looks at her, and there’s a line between her brows. 

“I don’t know, mum,” He says, “Does it matter?”

“No,” She replies, drumming her fingers on the wheel, “’S’pose not.”

_

 

As soon as he had arrived home, he was bombarded by three small bodies. He hugged them all, pressed kisses to their heads, but refused to answer any questions until he had some fuel in his belly. 

After dinner, he’d received four phone calls. One from Harry, who invited him out with the rest of the boys. Followed by a call from Niall, demanding him to come out with the rest of the boys, to which Louis said he already agreed to going. Then a call from Liam, asking if he wanted to be picked up. And lastly yet another call from Niall, threatening him to come out, to which Louis considered blocking his number. 

He’s almost one hundred per cent sure Niall’s already drunk.

His mum had insisted driving him instead. His mum had insisted on driving him everywhere from now on. Half because she doesn’t want to let Louis do anything alone again and half because she doesn’t trust him driving anything ever again. It’s granted. 

Now he’s sitting at a booth of _The Millhouse_ and Liam’s coming back with their fifth round of drinks. He was greeted with hugs, ruffles of his hair, slaps to the back, the usual rough-housing he’s used to. 

“So, Jay had t’ pick you up?” Niall had asked loudly, already a few drinks deep as suspected, eyes shining. 

“Yeah, why was that?” Liam piped up, brows pulled together in question. 

Harry looked at him with mirth, “Yeah?”

Louis hated them all. He sighed, figured he might as well lay it all out on the table now, let everything be known. So he told them. 

Mostly only told them about the problems he had with the car, keeping it going just enough until he stumbled upon a town. Told them about staying there longer than he thought. Told them about Travis. He didn’t mention Zayn — until now. 

It’s because he’s tipsy, verging on drunk. He’s well on his way. And it’s because after the endless laughter and teasing, Louis being on the receiving end, the night had progressed and Louis was filled in with what happened since he left. He was off the hook. Until Harry had thrown an arm around him and pulled Louis close to his side, grinning. 

“You know, we’re all just so happy, happy, happy that you’re finally home.”

Louis’ smile grew. He looked down at his drink, froth piling up at the bottom. “Yeah, that’s what Zayn said you’d say.”

The next things happened in quick succession at exactly the same time:

  1. Niall somewhat gagged on his drink, eyes flying open wider than Louis’ ever seen them. 
  2. Harry’s entire body tensed up. Honestly, it felt like it was a mannequin holding him. And,
  3. Liam dropped their tray of drinks, two steps away from their table.



“Jesus, Liam.” Louis says, now, a startled laugh slipping out. He looks at Liam’s face, his shocked eyes slowly looking down at the mess. “Are you okay?”

The three boys are complete copies of each other; open mouthed and eyes wide, yet bodies stiff. 

Louis supposes it is a bit surprising that Liam fucked up that bad. He expects it from Harry, since he’s knocked over countless drinks in his lifetime, but Liam’s not even drunk. Louis laughs, anyway. 

Three faces turn to him, blinking. 

“Zayn?” Niall asks, his expression and tone of voice something Louis’ foggy mind is trying hard to decipher. 

It feels like a dream right now. Louis’ own smile starts to fade and he looks at all of them, struggling to grasp what on earth is happening. Liam just dropped a whole tray of drinks, glass shattering with liquid splashing everywhere, and instead of laughing and teasing, they’re focused on him. 

Louis opens and closes his mouth twice, edging out of Harry’s arm that’s only now relaxed slightly, but before Louis can talk, one of the bouncers appears out of nowhere and taps Liam on the shoulder, gesturing to the exit of the bar. 

They all end up leaving — Liam with his head down, apologising, Harry with brows furrowed so deeply his eyes have vanished, Niall with a spaced out expression, walking in a daze — and Louis, finding it hilarious that they’ve been kicked out but also wanting to sit them all down and ask them what the fuck that was all about?

“‘M sorry, m’sorry.” Liam mumbles for what seems like the fifteenth time as they start to walk. Okay, maybe he is a little drunk. 

“Far out, Liam, stop apologising.” Louis tells him, rolling his eyes with a smile. He taps Liam’s back, “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah, but…” Liam licks his lips, shakes his head. He looks at Louis, then, eyes searching. “What were you saying? Before?”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks, “Before you got us kicked out?” He teases. 

Liam doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he just nods.

“Well, Harry here was just saying how you’re all just happy I’m home.” He tells him. “Which, thanks, lads. I’ve gotta say, this is what I’ve missed the most. Also, the piss here is a _lot_ better than what _they_ made me drink.” He pulls a sour face at the memory. “You’d be personally offended, I think, Neil.”

This time, Harry looks at him. “You mentioned a Zayn,” He says carefully, like he sometimes does when he’s trying really hard not to slur his words together. This time, though, he’s more serious. “Said you knew that’s what we’d say.”

“Oh.” Louis blinks. “Yeah, ‘cause he did. I told him I was sorta bracing meself for coming back home, like, just from the shit I’d know I’d get from you lot when I told you what happened. And he was just like, saying that you’ll all probably just be glad I’m home safe.” His eyes wander, then he locks onto something and gasps in excitement, “The kebab store! Totally forgot that fucking thing was open now!”

“Louis…” He hears, then his eyes go to Liam, who’s looking at him with slight concern. Concern? Shit, was the store always open and he just didn’t realise? Had he forgotten? He _swears_ it was still under construction and the store was only just finishing up before he left—

“Louis, who’s Zayn?” 

Louis turns to Niall, now, who’s looking at him like he was in the bar. 

Louis just shrugs, “Someone I met in that shithole of a town.” He answers, looking down at his shoes as they walk. He thinks he hears someone let out a sigh. He continues talking, “He was so odd at first. Like,” He lets out a small laugh, looks up from his shoes, “Wouldn’t even talk, or anything, well, not really. He’d talk, but when he did it was so _rude_ and, like, short? But I sorta made it my mission to befriend him, y’know, ‘cause he was _so_ weird.” He licks his lips as he thinks, slides his hands in the pockets of his jacket “Then, like, after one night where I got really drunk, he sorta watched over me a bit? I don’t know, he was different after that. Then we got chatting and stuff and I ended up really liking him. He’s who drove me to the station. He was the _only_ one there who had a car. Can you believe that?”

When he stops talking he realises how silent it is. 

God, see, _this_ is why he knew bringing up Zayn, or any mystery boy, would be a bad idea. He’d been doing so well, keeping his thoughts to himself, making sure his words don’t come out of him like vomit. 

“He sounds cool.” Harry says, a genuine smile on his face. Of course Harry would think he’s cool. 

Louis nods, hates himself for not being able to control his own smile that grows, “Yeah, he is.”

After that, he asks who would like to join him for a trip down there to collect his car. Harry and Liam exchange a look. Niall’s hand shoots up so fast Louis thinks he might have dislocated it. 

Louis laughs, “Okay, okay, Neil. You’re up.”

_

 

He wakes up with his head heavy, filled with thoughts of Zayn and damaged with dehydration.

They finished up early last night since it was Sunday and his friends have commitments during the week, apparently, and no other places were open. Which means today’s Monday, which means Louis has to get up. 

He groans outwardly, turning over in his bed and throwing an arm over his eyes in dismay. He had promised the girls that he’d walk them to school today over dinner last night. He regrets doing so, regrets it so much, and groans again when he can already hear the amount of footsteps going up and down the hall, accompanied by high-pitched bickering at the girls fight over mirror space in the bathroom. 

He removes his arm from his face, only to find his phone and glance at it. There aren’t any notifications and although that saddens him a little, he’s also sure that Zayn doesn’t ever use his phone unless he absolutely has to, and that he’s probably sleeping. Also, actually, there’s no _reason_ for Zayn to text or call. No reason at all. Unless, of course, Louis’ car is being permanently damaged and vandalised, or something. 

So, Louis gives him a reason. 

_I hope you know you’re the allocated car-sitter for as long as I’m gone !! ;)_

Before he can even re-read it endlessly until he chickens out and deletes it, the banging on his door startles him enough to press send, anyway. 

“Shit.” Louis curses under his breath. He swallows, then looks towards the door, “Yeah?”

“We’re going soon, Louuuu.” Daisy calls from the other side. 

“Yeah.” He replies, heaving out a breath. 

It takes a few minutes but eventually he changes into his jeans from last night and a fresh shirt, styles his hair with nothing except his hands, and throws a scarf around his neck for good measure. It takes a few more minutes but Louis leaves the house, two sets of eyes waiting for him with bored expressions. 

“Alright, alright.” Louis says, hands up in defeat, “Save the lecture, I’m here.” He gives them a smile and they relax, if not reluctantly. “Where’s Fiz?”

Phoebe points down the street where Félicité has stalked ahead, eyes down on her phone. 

“Right. So,” Louis says, starting to walk, his hands on either of their shoulders, “Just the three of us, then?”

Daisy nods. There’s a few moments of silence after that, which Louis is thankful for. He’s about to stop guiding them and slide out his phone when he sees Daisy look up at him, frowning quizzically. 

“Where did you go when you went on your road trip?”

Louis’ about to respond, but then Phoebe’s sighing with something like impatience, “Mum already told us, Daisy.” She rolls her eyes, “Some strange area with nobody there.”

“But she didn’t tell us _exactly_ where,” Daisy retorts, looking passed Louis’ body to see her, “Besides, I want to hear it from Lou. Not you.”

Phoebe sticks her tongue out, to which Daisy does the same. 

“Whoa, girls.” Louis places his hands between them both, making them stop. “That’s a bit rude of you both, don’t you think?”

Daisy shrugs whilst Phoebe folds her arms over her chest. This time, it’s Louis’ turn to sigh. 

They walk in silence again, and then Louis begins to fill in the girls about his past week. He’d hoped to do it at dinner tonight, whilst everyone was there — since last night Louis said he’d rather listen than talk, favouring to scoff down the home cooked plate in front of him — but he has a feeling Félicité would rather stab her eye with a fork than hear about all of her older brother’s antics. He gets it, understands it. Charlotte had been the exact same around this age. 

When he finishes talking, Daisy looks satisfied, but Phoebe looks at him skeptically. Louis braces for it. 

“So, your car’s at some dead town in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of incests you don’t know?”

Louis chokes on his own spit, eyes bulging. “Pheebs!” He doesn’t know whether to scold her or laugh, honestly. “What the — how do you even _know_ that word?”

She shrugs, unfazed, “I don’t know. Heard it somewhere.”

From there, Louis continues to walk in a constant state of befuddlement. His own family amazes him, sometimes. 

At home, he mentions that he and Niall are going back to Hillside to collect the car. 

“Not for a while, I hope.” Is her response. 

“ _Mum_ ,” He says. He definitely does not whine. “The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back, yeah? For good.”

She pins him with a look that Louis knows not to argue with. Somehow, he agrees to not go for a few more days. 

_

It’s Tuesday, and he’s babysitting.

Doris and Ernest are sitting down in the living room, endless amounts of toys surround them — some having been around since Louis was a toddler — making noise and lighting up so much that Louis’ convinced he still has a hangover. 

Thankfully, Liam said he’d come around and help out so he doesn’t end up burying his face underneath the couch cushions and using their stuffings as ear plugs. 

He’s watching T.V just as Ernest burps, the doorbell rings, and Doris accidentally topples over and bumps the side of her head. She starts crying and Louis grimaces.

“Aw, love.” He says, kneeling down to pick her up. “You’re okay.”

He cradles her head with one hand and she wails into his shoulder as Louis makes his way to the door. When he opens it, Liam sees the situation and Louis gives him a look as if to say, _yep, already_.

“Hi, Doris,” Liam greets with a smile and a soft voice. She looks at him and her cries quieten down a little. Liam reaches out and strokes a finger over Doris’ hand, “You look wonderful today.”

He pokes her cheek lightly and she giggles softly before making grabby hands at Liam, already trying to get out of Louis’ grip. 

“Jesus, okay, fine.” Louis says, exasperated, before handing Doris over, “I can see where the loyalties lie, babe, thanks.”

Doris just chuckles in response with no remorse whatsoever. Liam collects her and gives her a warm smile but not before throwing an apologetic one to Louis, to which Louis rolls his eyes and ushers them both inside the house before closing the door.

They end up taking care of them for around twenty minutes before the two of them start yawning and getting cranky. The twins, that is. Although Liam and Louis aren’t far off.

Once Doris and Ernest are asleep, the house feels miraculously more quiet.

“Still to this day I have no idea how your mum does it, mate.” Liam says as they enter the living room, slumping down onto the couch. 

Louis shakes his head, “I really don’t know, either.”

They’re both silent for a little while, the sound of the television in the background whilst Liam picks at his jeans and Louis keeps glancing at his phone. He never got a response from the text he sent. He tries not to let it bother him.

“Tell me more about Hillside.” Liam says conversationally, “You touched on it a little bit on Sunday night but you mentioned this one dude that you said you were quite friendly with.”

Louis’ not sure if there’s a question hidden in there somewhere, but Louis nods anyway. “Yeah, well, the whole place is a bit of a dump, mate. Y’know, I thought Doncaster was bad, but you go here and it’s just…” He trails off, unable to find the words. He turns to Liam fully and points at him, “You know when you and the lads told me you all went on this camp a few years ago? The one where it felt so eery you could hear a pin drop in the middle of the night?”

Liam’s face slowly brings a smile, “Yeah, you were there. You said it was some dystopia-type shit.”

Louis looks passed Liam’s shoulder, “Mm, that does sound like something I’d say.” He shrugs, turns to the television again, “Well, it was like that.”

He hears Liam hum. A few moments later, he talks again. “That guy who drove you to the station must be nice?”

At the mention of Zayn, Louis glances at his phone again. “Yeah, s’pose so.” He lets out a small laugh, “Anyone would have to be nice if they were willing to do that even after being annoyed endlessly by yours truly.”

Liam’s brow quirks up at that, “You annoyed him?”

“I trespassed into his backyard just to talk to him, mate.” Louis says, the admission coming out with a slight cringe, “Twice.”

It’s odd, thinking back. Especially now that he’s back in his hometown — where people are _normal —_ the fact that Louis had persisted like he did makes him wonder why Zayn even started speaking to him in the first place. If someone had done that to Louis here, he’d probably call the police. Maybe Zayn had taken pity on him. After all this time, maybe Zayn had just realised how lonely Louis truly was, and taken pity on him. Maybe it was only standard niceties after all. 

It would explain the lack of text messages on his phone, at least.

“So you liked him, then?” Liam says, pulling Louis out of his thoughts. 

He looks at Liam, his face passive despite the lingering worry etched in his brows, probably from Louis’ story. He looks down at his feet, picks at the couch. _So you liked him, then?_

“I mean… Yeah,” Louis replies, “He’s this sick performer who, like, sings for the town and he’s _such_ a good singer, Liam, you’d be impressed. And he writes all his own shit, too, it’s all poetic and lovely. And he’s so cold on the outside, y’know, which, originally, is what made him so intriguing to me; but, personally, I reckon he’s got a real big heart, even though he won’t admit it.” He lifts one shoulder, drops it. “I dunno. He’s cool.”

“And you said his name was Zayn?” Liam asks but Louis doesn’t look at him, just keeps his eyes on the screen in front.

“Zayn, yeah.”

In his peripheral, he sees Liam nod. And that’s when two very distinct baby cries are heard from the next room. 

_

 

His mum returns home an hour and forty-five minutes later. 

“Oh, thank _god_.” Louis says, draping himself onto her dramatically, “I thought I’d never make it out alive.”

She chuckles, places a hands on his head, “There, there.”

Liam lingers at the doorway of the kitchen, watching them with an entertained expression. “Hi, Jay.”

“Hi, love.” She replies sweetly, “How are you?”

Louis steps away and allows his mum to place her bag down. Liam enters the room, “Good, yeah. It was all good on this end, too.”

“Only because they seem to think Liam hung the bloody moon himself.” Louis says, put-out. Liam’s grin grows. The bastard. “Honestly, isn’t like I’m their _actual_ brother or anything.” 

His mum laughs with a shake of her head and flicks on the kettle. “Thanks for helping, Liam, means a lot.”

Liam walks over to Louis and puts a hand between Louis’ shoulder blades, “Anytime.”

“Well.” Louis announces, clapping his hands together, “I think I might resign to the couch for the rest of the day. Will you be joining me, Payno?”

He looks at Liam, his face only millimetres away. He looks at Louis, too, and in that moment Louis decides to stick his middle finger up Liam’s nose. 

Liam steps away and grabs Louis’ hand. “Stop!” He says, but Louis has another hand, and he goes to flick Liam’s nose. Liam grabs that one, too, and so Louis’ on grid-lock. He surrenders, and Liam makes the mistake of letting go. Louis smacks Liam on the side of the head for being so stupid and skitters off quickly into the lounge room before Liam can catch up. “You’re insufferable!” Liam calls out. 

Louis only lets out a cackle in response.

He flops onto the couch, lying down, and looks at his phone. He’s met with a blank screen. He drops it onto his chest, then closes his eyes. 

In the next room, he can hear Liam and his mum talking. Louis can’t hear it, though, since their voices are oddly hushed, nothing but murmurs coming from the kitchen. Louis zones them out, revelling in the peace and quiet.

_

 

Wednesday and Thursday are uneventful. 

There’s something comforting in the way it’s so easy to fall back into old routines — with home life, with his shifts at the Football Club’s canteen, with e _verything_ — and there’s also something disappointing in it, too. 

Because although Doncaster is bigger and more populated and so much more familiar… It’s so _boring_. 

He’d never realised it before. But now that he’s been out there, seen the large roads, the open spaces, met people he didn’t think he could ever meet and lived outside of his own home — Doncaster now seems, in the loosest sense, mediocre. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with a certain person. It has everything to do with a certain person. But that certain person might as well not even exist because according to his own phone it could very well be a person Louis made up in his own mind due to the sudden claustrophobia and loneliness and _boredom_ he felt in a place he so mercifully stumbled upon. 

Yes, he very well could’ve created Zayn out of thin air. 

This is what he tells himself on Thursday night as he’s tucked up in bed, glaring at the message that remains to be responded. It’s a ploy to convince himself (so as to not damage his pride, his self-esteem, his dignity, all that good stuff) that Zayn’s not _choosing_ to ignore him, no. The real reason is because Zayn’s actually _imaginary_ —

“ _God_ ,” Louis curses under his breath, flopping his arm over his eyes. When did this become his life?

He lifts his arm up and opens his eyes, looking at the same duffel bag he used his first time he left. It’s now filled with fresh clothes, ready for tomorrow. Niall said they most likely won’t stay the night but Louis thinks it won’t hurt if he’s prepared for whatever might happen. 

He sighs. He supposes he should warn Zayn that they’re arriving tomorrow, since that’s the only reason they got each other’s numbers in the first place. 

That’s the only reason.

“ _God_.” Louis repeats, cringing this time. He’s such an _idiot_. He might as well only bring his phone and keys tomorrow, that’s all. There’s no way he’ll be staying longer than needed. Zayn doesn’t even like him that much and Anthony probably hates him for how he treated Travis. He could stay with Mary, or Rita, but why the fuck would he? There’s no reason for him to. He’s merely going back for his car, that’s it. 

He pulls up the message thread with Zayn and sends a text. He rolls over in bed, and goes to sleep. 

_

 

“We’re going on a road trip, you lazy piece of shit. Wake up before I piss on yer.”

This is what Louis blissfully wakes up to on Friday morning. 

“Don’t you dare.” Louis weakly mutters from underneath his duvet. 

“Y’know I will.” Niall replies, opening the curtains and making the light of the day stream right onto Louis’ eyes. He squeezes them together and rolls over with a groan. “Might even piss on your bag. Your carpet. I’ll open up your window and piss on your—“

“Okay, what the fuck is with your sudden obsession with _pissing_ on everything?” Louis says, shifting himself up onto his elbow and rubbing his face so he can look Niall in the eye. “Couldn’t you have just woken me up gently like a normal person?

“Nah.” He says simply, standing in the middle of Louis’ room with hands on his hips and a grin on his face. “‘Cause look at that! You’re up!”

“Yeah, under duress.” Louis mumbles.

Niall laughs loudly. “C’mon, get ready, mate.” 

Louis blinks and looks at his friend with great confusion, “Why are you a morning person now? Why have you betrayed me?”

“I’m going on a road trip with my most favourite person in the world.” Niall states, bouncing over to cuddle Louis without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I be excited?”

Louis, all the more confused, looks at him. “You sound like Harry.”

Niall laughs, loud and genuine, before he drops his smile and sniffs twice. “You need a shower.” He tells Louis honestly. Louis doesn’t know whether to be offended or not because Niall’s matter-of-factness never comes across as insulting. It’s been a very confusing morning. “I’ll wait with Jay.”

He leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Louis lies back down in bed, trying to recuperate from that entire conversation. 

He looks to the ceiling. Hillside today. Zayn today. 

He reaches over to his phone. The screen is blank. He doesn’t know what he expected. 

Twenty minutes later and he’s saying good-bye to his mum once more. And then he’s in Niall’s car, looking out the passenger window and hearing the radio as Niall drives down the road.

Hopefully, once they arrive, Zayn is everything Louis told Niall he’d be. He also hopes, in return, that they get along with each other. Louis knows they will, Niall has a knack with people. Louis genuinely doesn’t know anybody that can say a bad word about him. But he hopes that he isn’t too full-on with Zayn, hopes that he doesn’t scare him. 

Maybe Niall will tone it down a little and not be as brash and as strange as he is?

“Phoebe told me it’s an incest-town.” Niall says with a fist-bump to the air, “I’m psyched, man!”

Louis sighs in defeat. Maybe not.


	9. Chapter 9

_Zayn_

He remains there until he can no longer see or hear the train at all. He stays there for a moment longer, allowing the air and the silence to settle him somehow. 

He was so close, _so close_ , to telling him. He could’ve bared his soul to Louis in three sentences: I know you. I was your best friend. I caused the accident. 

That’s all he needed to hear. Louis would piece it together fast; he’s always been intelligent like that. He’d know that Zayn knew nothing about the accident, he’d also know that Zayn had no idea about his amnesia, either. Three sentences and Louis could have reacted, asked questions if he wanted to, decided to delete Zayn’s number, decided to have someone else collect his car so as to not see him ever again. He could have had the whole train ride to think about it, could have gone home and asked about it, been told the whole truth. 

But the timing was wrong and Zayn’s a coward. 

He drives back alone. It’s eerie. 

He never drove once when he arrived at Hillside. He’d parked his car in his drive-way never to be used again. He never thought the first time he got back behind the wheel would be to drive to the station for his ex-best friend that thinks they’re merely newly-amicable acquaintances and that Zayn’s a hero for driving him even though he’s the cause of Louis’ memory loss _from_ driving him and therefore the reason Louis’ family “treats him like fragile China” and why he hasn’t learnt how to be independent and why he’s felt the need to travel on his lonesome which ended up being an absolute _failure—_

Zayn takes in a deep breath. 

Without Louis, he can’t distract himself. He doesn’t know how to stop these spiralling thoughts or how to relax himself. _With_ Louis he’s a hard shell with a brittle filling, threatening to crack without warning. He wants to laugh but he knows it’d come out manic.

He also knew the recovery from this week would be hard to deal with. It’s like he was thrown a lifeline of sorts, maybe, and now it’s been ripped away. 

He swallows harshly. Louis said he’d come back. Zayn can tell him then. 

_

 

He arrives at Hillside and spends a total of three minutes in his house until he gets a knock on the door. Unfortunately it’s not locked, so Anthony barges in without so much as a call of his name. 

Zayn looks at him from his kitchen, watching as Anthony peers around, a tense look in his eye. He finally settles on Zayn, face almost screwed up in confusion. 

“Where’s Louis?” He asks.

Zayn fills up the kettle with water and puts it on the stove. “Why?” He replies dully. 

Anthony scoffs, slightly indignant. “You were last seen with him. You took him for a drive to clear his head I’m guessing?” He begins to walk over. Zayn takes out a mug from a cupboard and starts to make his coffee whilst the water simmers. “So, is he here? In your bedroom, maybe?”

“No, Ant.” He says on a sigh.

“C’mon, mate. I need to talk to him.” He pleads. “I need to— Like, he needs to know—“

“I dropped him off at the station, yeah?” Zayn tells him. He watches as Anthony’s brows pull further together in disbelief. “He’s on his way home now, so.”

“Are you kidding me?” Anthony asks. He’s not mad at Zayn, but his frustration is clear in his voice. “God, did he say anything? About me, I mean. I know he seemed pretty mad when he left?”

Zayn wants to scoffs, wants to tell Anthony to get out. He clenches his jaw. “I know you lied to him.”

Anthony’s movements stop and his face pales. Zayn can pinpoint the exact second he schools it into obliviousness and plays dumb. “What are you talking about?”

Zayn shakes his head. He looks out his window at the side of his house, looks at the trees. He looks back at the man in front of him. “I _know_ Travis, Anthony, and I know he’s not a mechanic. You introduced me to him one of the first weeks I got here. You only assured Louis you could get him one so he could stay at your house in the meantime in hopes to get laid.”

Anthony splutters, “What the fuck?” Then, softer, “Did you tell him that?”

“No,” Zayn says. _I should’ve_ , Zayn thinks. 

Anthony breathes a sigh of relief. “Good.”

The water starts to boil and Zayn turns around to turn the stove off. As he’s filling his mug up, Anthony starts talking again. 

“It’s true, though. I did do that.”

“Shit thing to do.”  
  
He turns to see Anthony worrying his lip in between his teeth. When they lock eyes, he lets go. “So, did he mention me at all, then?”

Zayn blows on his coffee, shrugs one shoulder. 

Anthony groans, “You’re not gonna tell me?”

“Isn’t my thing to tell, mate.”

When Anthony looks at him, it’s almost with bewilderment. “ _Really_? You’ve known me longer than him and you’re gonna take his side in this?” Zayn merely blinks. He can tell Anthony’s mainly pissed off at himself — for lying, for not making Louis stay, for fucking things up, for letting Zayn be the “good guy” — whatever for, Zayn doesn’t know. All he knows it’s that it’s extremely entertaining from where he’s standing. “Y’know, he’d come to me after trying with you and he’d tell me how cruel you were to him. Whereas I was nothing but nice the whole time.” He begins to back away, nearing the front door. “So if he should hate anyone, it _probably_ should be you."

He leaves and slams the door shut. 

At his words, Zayn lets out a humourless laugh. “Yeah, no shit.” He murmurs. 

He drinks his coffee. It burns his tongue. He doesn’t react. 

_

 

That night he checks his phone and has a missed call from Louis but with no voicemail. Zayn stares at the notification until his phone turns black. He sleeps, a strange sense of comfort soothing his mind. 

_

 

_I hope you know you’re the allocated car-sitter for as long as I’m gone !! ;)_

That’s the text Zayn wakes up to the next day. With eyes bleary, he reads over the words again and again and again. He shifts up in his bed. It’s still so early, yet Louis’ up and Zayn wonders if the first thing he did today was text him. He wonders if Zayn’s still on Louis’ mind as much as Louis’ on Zayn’s. 

_Of course. But you should know I’m not above chasing culprits down the road :) x_

He stares at it, re-reads it. He deletes the x, not knowing what possessed him to add that in the first place. He doesn’t even send kisses to his mum. Then he deletes the smiley. They’re not at that stage yet. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He deletes all of it and places his phone on his bedside table. He’ll reply later, he decides. 

In the shower, he thinks.

He wonders whether Louis told the family, told his friends. He could bet on it with himself, if he wanted to. He’d bet his whole house that Louis’ already explained everything, already mentioned someone by the name of Zayn. He’d bet his life savings that they all questioned the name, asked about him. It’s a shame it’s not uncommon, his name. It’s a shame that he knows exactly what they’d be thinking when they hear it, too.

And then something hits him. 

Louis said he wouldn’t be coming back alone. _“Oh! I’m gonna come back, like, next week sometime with a friend so we can jumpstart my car.”_ He had said, his eyes brightening. A friend. There’ll be someone from Doncaster, here, visiting Hillside and unavoidably meeting Zayn.

There’s no way — even if it isn’t someone Zayn knows — that they wouldn’t recognise him. 

From what his mum had mentioned when he left, it was on the local news everywhere. His face, his story, his name. What if this friend sees him, realises he’s the one that’s been on the run, and tells Louis? Tells the police? 

Zayn won’t even have a chance to tell Louis the truth. 

He’ll finally be found. And then what? He’ll get taken back to Doncaster? Get locked up? Serve time? Zayn runs a his hands through his hair, water splashing onto the tiles. 

_

He hears the commotion before he sees it.

In the night, it’s always pitch-black a few hours after dinnertime, everyone having gone to bed, all the lights within the houses turned off. Zayn’s got his head down as he walks, strolling with a cigarette perched delicately between his fingers. 

“You could’ve at least _tried_.”

Zayn looks up from his shoes. It was Anthony that spoke, and he sees him as well as Travis outside Anthony’s house. They’ve got the bonnet of Louis’ car open and Anthony seems stressed. 

Travis, on the other hand, “Why’s it such a big deal, bro? S’just a car—“

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks tiredly. He shouldn’t have to keep watch over Louis’ car while he’s not here. It’s common decency not to go through someone’s things without permission. Yet, remarkably, here they are. 

Anthony’s eyes widen when they lock onto Zayn’s. He swallows harshly and steps away from the car. “We’re looking.” He shares a glance with Travis. Then, as though he suddenly has the confidence of a king, widens his stance and straightens his back. “What are you doing?”

Zayn withstands the need to roll his eyes into the back of his head. “S’isn’t your car, man.”

“So?” 

Zayn stares at him for a moment. 

He briefly wonders whether his neighbour has always been this daft and insufferable and its never been visible (due to Zayn’s lack of world-awareness and mind-numbing mopery and he’s just now noticing it because he’s recently been hit with a brick of reality in the form of a boy that somehow still feels like a dream), _or,_ if he’s only now suddenly like this. 

Either way, Anthony still thinks Zayn and Louis are strangers, for the better part of it. Zayn tries to come off as nonchalant as possible. 

“So leave it.”

Anthony levels him with a stare. It’s neither intimidating nor unnerving. 

“Agreed, bro.” Travis says on a sigh. Zayn breaks his gaze to look at him, and finds Travis smiling at him. Travis places a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “C’mon let’s watch some shit on that tele you got, this is boring.”

Zayn watches as Anthony chews the inside of of his cheek, deliberating. Eventually, he mumbles a, “Yeah, alright.” And doesn’t look back up at Zayn when he lets Travis guide him back into the house, his words coming out like a slow string, all tied together. 

They vanish inside and Zayn waits until the front door closes. He turns back to the car, gently closing the bonnet. What were they even trying to do? The problem was distinguished, what would looking at his car do? 

He shakes his head. He’s never been able to work out the inner-workings of the minds of the townies here. 

Louis’ car looks a few years older than Zayn’s. It’s not handed down from Louis’ family, it’s one that Zayn hasn’t seen before. Louis must have bought it himself. He must have been working towards this car, scraping together money from a job he’s landed. Zayn runs his fingers on the car lightly, walking around it. He pictures Louis’ face when he bought it, the sheer joy and excitement he would’ve felt. 

Zayn looks away. He breathes in the cigarette and faces towards the sky. He can’t imagine how many moments he’s missed in Louis’ life, how many milestones and achievements he’s gone through. They were supposed to do it all together. They’d promised.

“Bros for life, yeah?” Louis had said, his voice coming from the floor where the blow-up mattress lay. 

From Zayn’s position on his own bed, his eyes were open despite the complete darkness of his room. He smiled. “Yeah, bros for life.”

“Like,” Louis begun, and shuffling sounds were made from Louis turning over. “Like, even when we’re off doing our own thing? Like, after high school and that?”

Zayn turned his head to face him, even though Louis’ eyes were lost in the shadows. “Yeah, Lou. Even then.”

“Doniya said she hardly speaks to her high school friends anymore, didn’t she?” Louis asked. Zayn didn’t reply, Louis already knew the answer. “What if… y’know, we find other friends? And —“

“It won’t happen.” Zayn told him. 

“But how do you _know_?” Louis stressed. “You may be smart, Zayner, but you’re no future teller.”

Zayn’s smile grew. “Might be.”

Louis scoffed. “Great. At _that_ to your list of unfair traits, then.”

Zayn laughed. The room fell silent after that and he could _hear_ Louis thinking. He knew how Louis’ brain worked. He may look like the type to live freely and carelessly, but Zayn knew how much he over-thought everything, how much he thought about the future. He might play it off as something, but behind the big character was a layer of doubt and insecurities. 

“I know because it’s us.” Zayn said, voice soft.

A moment later and Louis’ shuffled closer to Zayn’s bed. A hand poked Zayn in the ribs and Louis spoke before Zayn could tell him off

“Pinky promise.” He demanded.

Zayn had felt his heart swell. He found Louis’ pinky with his own in the darkness and squeezed. 

“I promise.” He said. 

_

 

On Tuesday, Zayn wakes up at noon. 

He sits in his shed and writes a song about love being golden like sands of time. He eats a packet of ramen. He lays on the grass and lets whatever sun that struggles to peak through the clouds hit his eyelids and soak through his skin. He lays on his bed and checks his phone. He reads a text.

He reads a text.

This time, it isn’t from Louis, rather an unknown number. When Zayn had run away, the first thing he did was go to a convenience store and buy an old-fashioned “brick” phone, so that he had no way of being tracked down. The only numbers he’d registered into it were his family’s, and Louis’. So, this could be anyone.

He reads it over: _Be careful, Zayn_

Someone knows, then. 

He turns it over in his mind. Could it be Jay? Harry? Liam? Niall? Could it be one of Louis’ sisters? Someone else entirely? Whoever it is must have found Zayn’s new number in Louis’ phone. They must know it’s him and not some other Zayn. 

_Be careful._

Are they trying to warn him? Do the police know where he is? Is he being tracked down? Zayn feels his heart rate speed up. 

Maybe they’re telling him not to get too close to Louis. Not to get too attached. Be careful, stay weary, be smart. But why? Why would they care enough to send something? Why would they go out of their way to contact him? 

Zayn groans inwardly. He wants to throw his phone at the wall. What a vague message. 

He’ll most likely hear the police before they get to him. The townies would fuss over them almost comically, a swarm of flies to a rotting carcass. He’ll most likely be able to sneak out and drive away. If the police chase him, so be it. 

Or maybe he’ll just show them his wrists, surrender, and let himself be pushed into the divi van, tired of running. 

Maybe they won’t show up at all. Maybe whoever is texting him isn’t looking out for him. Maybe they’re trying to make him scared, make him uneasy. Maybe they’re playing a prank on him and Zayn should expect a call from the same number with a joke on the other line. 

He wonders whether he should delete the text. 

Eventually, he decides not to. He leaves it in his mailbox, lets it sit there without a response. He thinks about finally replying to Louis’, but the anonymous text makes him second-guess it all-together. 

_

 

The knock on the door startles him. 

Immediately, in his bleary-eyed state, Zayn thinks it’s Louis. He thinks it’s him knocking and he expects a voice to follow, to call out to him like he used to. Secondly, when his mind adjusts, he assumes it’s the police. He’d had a dream overnight that he’d wake up to them busting his door down, angry voices and expressions on their faces as they grab Zayn harder than they have to. 

With that thought in mind, he steps out of bed with a tightness in his chest and nerves coiling in his stomach. He pulls on his tracksuit pants slowly and makes his way over to the door, breathing in. 

He opens it, and it’s Rita.

She’s holding a basket of fruit in her hands and she looks up at him, squinting through her thick-brimmed glasses. “Good lord, love.” She says. “You look like shit.”

She shuffles passed Zayn in her slippers and moves towards the kitchen. Zayn lets out a sigh and he slides a hand down his face before shutting the door. 

“Hi, Rita.” He says, meeting her in the kitchen where she’s placed the basket on the bench. 

“I brought you some fruit from my garden because I know how stupid you are.” She tells him, pointing. “You don’t eat and then you look terrible.” She places both hands on the bench and squints at him some more. Zayn thinks she needs a new prescription. “Why do you look so terrible?”

Zayn scoffs, then lets out a chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Rita.”

She wags her finger, “I do.” She picks up an apple and walks over slowly until she can place it in Zayn’s hand. She silently orders for him to eat and although she’s seventy, she’s also highly intimidating, so Zayn bites into it. She then sits herself onto Zayn’s chair and Zayn sits on the floor. Her hands are folded in her lap. “It’s because of that boy.”

Zayn swallows. “That boy?”

She scolds him, “Don’t make me try to remember his name. You know the one I’m talking about. Where has he gone?”

Zayn inspects the apple in his hand, fiddles with the stem between his fingers. “He went back home.”

She hums. “Oh. Is he coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She says. “You were better with him here.”

Zayn looks up at her at that. She says it on a whim, and then the delves into a story about how happy Terry used to look when he had a good day fishing. Zayn starts to zone out, wondering what Rita meant by that. 

She hardly saw Zayn and Louis together. 

He doesn’t ask her. Instead, he continues on his apple as Rita rattles on, another voice in the house oddly comforting. 

_

_  
His phone rings on vibrate on his bedside table. It’s so forceful that it almost topples off the surface and Zayn picks it up before it does. He sees Louis’ name on the screen and looks at the time: 12:24AM._

_“‘Lo?” Zayn says with a frown. His voice thick with sleep._

_“Zayn!” Louis greets him, too cheery. “Get out of bed.”_

_“Wha’?” Zayn rubs at his eyes. “Why?”_

_“‘Cause.” Louis replies, almost affronted that Zayn asked and didn’t immediately follow his orders. “It’s a Friday night and we’re doing nothing and the others are doing something.”_

_Zayn groans, “Lou, we_ just _came back home.”_

_That’s a lie, they had gotten home around seven, but both of their families had gone away together to Paris and stayed in the city for three days. The boys had called and asked if they wanted to do something but they were too exhausted to say yes. At the time, the thought of sleeping in his own bed had almost been erotic for Zayn._

_“I know, but.” Louis sighs in frustration. “I can’t sleep. So. Meet me in the park.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Really, really.” Louis says with a grin. Zayn can picture it in his head._

_“Fuck.” Zayn gives in. “Fine.”_

_He can hear Louis’ celebration on the other side and Zayn hangs up his phone. It’s got to be minus degrees outside and Zayn has no idea how they’re about to last out there. Regardless, he pulls on some jeans, a long-sleeve, a hooded jumper, a leather jacket, a pair of gloves and a beanie. He also takes his backpack and heads out, making sure nobody in the house wakes up._

_It’s only a two or four minute walk to the park for both of them, the location of it in the middle of the same street they live on. The night air instantly freezes the tip of his nose and Zayn brings his gloves up to breathe into._

_Once he’s at the park, he spots Louis up on the playground near the slide. Everything’s frosted over and Louis’ in the middle of using his shoe to scrape it all off. He looks up and meets Zayn’s eyes, a smile taking over his face._

_“Yay!” He shouts, waving his fists in the air._

_Zayn bites down a grin. He pushes down the immediate lightness he feels, also. When he climbs up to meet Louis, Louis’ clapping his hands together with glee._

_“Tell me_ why _you pried me out of the comfort of my own bed to join you in the freezing cold?”_

_Louis gasps, mock-offended, “I did no such thing!”_

_Zayn gives him a look. “I was so warm.”_

_“Well, now you’re cold. And stuck with me, so, ha.” Louis says, folding his arms over his chest._

_They should be sick of each other. They should be wanting to spend time alone or with other people as much as possible. They should, seeing as they’d just spent every second together the past few days. They should, but instead they’re here._

_“Lucky for you,” Zayn says, taking off his backpack and swinging it to his front. “I brought something that might warm us up.”_

_Louis’ grin widens. “You’re my best friend, do you know that?”_

_Zayn shakes his head with a smile. He takes out his zip-lock bag and Louis holds out his hands for it. Then Zayn takes out his glass bowel and sets it next to him. By the time Zayn’s putting his backpack away, Louis’ already filled the bowel with the water that’s in his bottle._

_Zayn takes out a lighter from his pocket and watches as Louis takes a small amount of weed from the zip-lock and puts it into the cone piece. He’s so delicate with it, every movement so fluid and mesmerising. He could watch him forever._

_Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, then looks elsewhere._ It’s weird _, he reminds himself,_ You’re being weird _._

_“Remember when Ms Hocking found us underneath the bleachers that one time?” Louis asks, packing in a little more. His face brings a smile, “Man, how did she believe it was just cigarettes? I mean, the_ smell _.”_

_Zayn chuckles. “Yeah. And she didn’t even punish us for smoking.”_

_“Right?” Louis says in disbelief, looking up at him. Zayn swears his eyes twinkle sometimes when he looks at him. It might also be the way they’re reflecting from the moon that sits in the sky. “I mean, we were juniors, like.”_

_He laughs and Zayn joins him. Louis takes his hit and Zayn tries to warm up, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. The sound of the water bubbling is heard when Louis breathes in and Zayn continues to focus elsewhere, already knowing how Louis’ mouth looks with his lips around the rim of the glass cylinder._

_When he finishes, he lets out an exhale and smoke separates them for a second or two before revealing Louis, head tilted back against the wooden walls and eyes fallen shut, feeling the high. Zayn takes the bowel and fills it, snagging another look at Louis and the way his mouth pulls up into a grin._

_“Yeah,” Is all he says, voice relaxed._

_Zayn doesn’t reply. He takes his own hit, vaguely aware of the set of eyes on him, and he holds it in his lungs before looking up and leaning over. He blows out his smoke into Louis’ face and Louis chuckles, waving a hand in front of his face._

_They both sit back, bodies slack. Zayn loves the way Louis’ eyes slightly droop when he’s like this, the way Louis’ mouth is in a constant smile, the edges of it subtly curling upwards. They’ve been doing this for a few years, having started when they were juniors. Then, Louis wasn’t so relaxed. Every time he’d smoke, he’d be his normal bouncy, talkative self, just slower and more giggly. Now, he’s sometimes more loose than Zayn._

_He feels a kick to his shoe, then, “Why’re starin’ at me for?”_

_Zayn blinks, and realises his eyes must have been locked onto Louis for less than a minute. He feels his cheeks heat up despite the cold. He opts for a shrug as a response._

_Louis chuckles. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”_

_“‘Course you don’t.” Zayn replies. “You love the attention.”_

_Louis rolls his eyes. “Least I’m not_ vain _.”_

_“You are!” Zayn protests, leaning over to shove his hand in Louis’ hair. Louis yelps and ducks away before swatting at Zayn’s hands. “See?”_

_Louis looks at him, affronted. “Oh, and if I do that to you?”_

_He leaves no room for a response before he kneels and lurches forward, letting both hands rustle up Zayn’s hair. Zayn lets out a startled noise and grabs both of Louis’ forearms._

_“Loueh! No!” Zayn whines, toppling over and trying hard not to let his face split in two from how hard he’s smiling. Louis finally lets up and sits back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he admires his work._

_“Ha-ha.” He says, pointing. “Looks like you’ve just been shagged.” Zayn sits back up and pats down his hair, trying to look annoyed. Louis picks up the bowel. “How was she, Zayn?”_

_Zayn gives him the side-eye but Louis’ no longer focused on him. “A menace.”_

_Louis snorts._

_They both smoke another each, and then lie down next to each other in silence as they watch the stars. There isn’t much to see, but being as blissed out as they feel, it’s still nice._

_“D’you know what’s cool?” Louis asks._

_“What?”_

_“How everyone looks up at the same sky, but it’s different, depending where you are.”_

_Zayn licks his lips. “Are y’meaning time zones and that?”_

_“_ No _, like,” Louis huffs a bit. “We’re here, looking at this right now, but it’s cloudy. Whereas if you were to go to, say, a rainforest, the night-sky would look completely different.”_

_Zayn hums. “It’d be brighter, there.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_They fall quiet._

_“Would you ever wanna leave here?” Louis asks after a moment, voice uncharacteristically soft. He looks deep in thought, his brows slightly pinched together. The way his eyes blink slower and slower each time tells Zayn he’s more ready for bed than he lets on. It’s not until Louis’ turning his head to look at him that Zayn’s mind catches up and realises the question._

_He turns his focus to the moving stars, lit up more so by the street lamps than the moon itself. “Maybe.”_

_Louis just nods. A few moments pass, Louis filling the silence with his subtle humming rendition of_ Hypnotise _by The Notorious B.I.G and Zayn can feel the drug in his system, his limbs becoming heavier and his mind foggier. He moves his hand and taps Louis’ wrist with his finger._

_“Hey,” He says, and gains Louis’ attention, the song stopping. “Did you want another?”_

_Louis’ mouth twists as he thinks about it. He shakes his head._

_Zayn nods and shifts to sit up, Louis’ humming continuing again. Zayn smokes another bowel and watches the way Louis’ feet move side-to-side with the song. He wonders when this heavy yet buoyant feeling inside his chest will disappear._

_When Zayn zips up his backpack after cleaning out and packing away everything, Louis leaps up, a sudden spurt of energy throughout him. Zayn quirks a brow, waiting for whatever adventure Louis wants them to go on._

_“Let’s go for a walk.”_

_“I thought we were gonna go to bed.” Zayn tells him honestly. “You looked pretty tired there, Lou.”_

_“Tired? With you?” Louis says, scrunching up his face. “Psh.” He turns, and then slides down the slide, ice falling off it as he does so. Once standing, he looks at Zayn and raises both arms up to the sky. “C’mon, Zayner!”_

_Without much of a choice at all, Zayn slides down too, meeting Louis at the end. He cheers at him, and Zayn feels like he can’t see with the grin on his face. He steps up to Louis and claps a hand on his back._

_“Where to, Loueh?”_

_“Wherever the wind takes us, darling!”_

_Zayn lets out a laugh that echoes against the trees as Louis bounds away, his smile noticeable in the dark. Zayn follows, of course he does, and the two of them walk with their arms linked and with a skip in their step, whichever direction the wind blows._

_Hints of snow on the path crunches under their shoes and Zayn still feels endlessly cold but there’s a warmth throughout him now and a body close next to him so he’s cosier than he’d like to admit. Louis’ promoted himself from humming to singing — or, rather, rapping — and he gestures with his hand as he does so, making Zayn laugh even harder._

_“Don’t quit y’day job, mate.” He tells him._

_Louis stops in his path and looks at him, dead-on and open-mouthed. But before he can come up with a rebuttal of any kind, his phone starts to ring._

_“I won’t forget this, buddy.” He warns. He slides his phone out and unlinks their arms as he does so. His face lights up when he sees who’s calling. Before Zayn can see, Louis’ already answering and putting it on speaker. “Payno, mate!”_

_“Ay!” Liam greets with a shout, the word going on and on. “Lou, mate!”_

_“What’s goin’ on? ‘M here with Zayn.”_

_From the other line, they hear a gasp. “ZAYN!”_

_In the background, they hear a, “Oh, Zayn’s there?”_

_“Come join us!” Liam says._

_Louis laughs. Maybe at their enthusiasm, maybe at how drunk that all sound, maybe because he’s stoned. Zayn takes the phone from him._

_“We’re at the park.”_

_“Come to my house! Come drink with us!” Liam exclaims, followed by shouts of encouragement in the background. “We’re all drinking.”_

_“Yeah,” Zayn says, chuckling, “We can kind of tell.”_

_Louis snickers. “Come to us.”_

_“Wait, why are you at the —_ oh _.” Liam realises, “You’re high, aren’t you?”_

_Louis bursts out laughing and Zayn turns away from him so he doesn’t do the same. “No, not at all.”_

_“You so are!” Liam says._

_“Bring some ‘ere!” Niall orders._

_“Yeah, get your asses over here, we miss you!” Liam tells them._

_Louis comes over and props his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, his grin still present. Zayn brings the phone up closer to both of them and says, “Yeah, maybe.”_

_“I won’t take maybe for an —“ Liam’s cut off by the sound of something breaking, and then Harry’s sincere apology following after. They hear a muffled conversation happening and Louis’ laughing into Zayn’s neck. Suddenly, Zayn doesn’t want the night to end. “Anyway, I gotta go. But I expect to see your faces soon! Love you!”_

_“Love you, Leeyum.” Zayn says._

_“See you soon, Payno!” Louis says, and grabs the phone from Zayn’s hands, stepping away and hanging up. Zayn looks at him, even after he puts his phone away, even after they lock eyes. Louis gives him a questioning stare._

_“See you soon?” Zayn asks._

_“Yeah,” Louis grins, shrugging. “Why not?”_

_“How’re we gonna get there?”_

_“Taxi? Bus?” Louis supplies, falling into step and linking their arms together, both of them walking in the opposite direction than before, “But this is where the wind is blowing us, you see.”_

_“I see.” Zayn says, mind foggy. “But we can’t afford a taxi and buses don’t run at this time.”_

_“Oh.” Louis pouts, disheartened. Zayn’s own heart strings pull. “What about bikes?”_

_“In this weather?” Zayn argues, as though that’s the only reason why Zayn would definitely like to_ not _ride a bike right now. “Please.”_

_Louis huffs, “Well, alright, Logical McLogicsan. What’s_ your _idea?”_

_And Zayn should’ve said he didn’t have one. He should have said there’s no way they could go anywhere, should have told him they needed to go home, should have changed the subject, should have done_ anything _. Instead, he said;_

_“I know another thing that has wheels and doesn’t have pedals. Or requires effort.”_

_Louis stops in his path yet again, but this time it’s with a smile and mischievous eyes, “Zayn Malik, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”_

_“I dunno.” Zayn says with a shrug, looking away and trying not to let the smile that’s threatening to spill show. “Am I?”_

_Louis’ grin deepens, and then a finger is poking Zayn’s cheek. They begin walking and Louis shakes his head. “You naughty, naughty boy.”_

_They arrive at Zayn’s house and all the lights inside are still completely off.Zayn takes out the keys for the car that’s parked in the street out the front. He’s driven it to and from school every day since he bought it from his grandparents, and it might be an old model, but it’s_ his _. Though, something makes him stop before he gets in._

_“Y’reckon this is a good idea?”_

_Louis, on the other side, cocks his head to the right. “Yeah, ‘course. I mean, honestly, nobody’s around at this time of night, right? And, actually, you’re quite accustomed to weed ‘cause you’ve been smoking it so bloody long anyway, isn’t like the first time havin’ it. And you’re a fucking good driver, too.” He moves the hand that’s rested on top of the car up and down as a shrug, “Seems like a pretty good idea to me.”_

_And so Zayn drives._

_“Roads are pretty icy.” Zayn observes, looking out the window. The road that they’re on doesn’t seem so bad, his wheels secure enough as they drive. The streets are fairly empty, too, like Louis had said. And the drive is only about ten or so minutes._

_He hears Louis hum contemplatively. He’s looking out the window, and then peers over the front of Zayn’s car before lastly landing on Zayn’s face. His voice comes out surprisingly gentle, hand resting lightly on Zayn’s wrist, “Hey, we don’t_ have _to go, if you don’t want to.”_

_Zayn’s shaking his head before the sentence is finished. “Nah, s’okay. Will be good to see them, y’know?”_

_“Yeah,” Louis agrees, and then he’s giggling, “Harry’s probably already passed out.”_

_Zayn smiles, “I wonder what it is that he broke of Liam’s.”_

_Louis laughs openly and it fills the car. “Knowing his luck, it was probably the most expensive thing he owns. Harry’ll be gravelling at Liam’s feet for the rest of the year.”_

_Zayn snorts. “Meanwhile Niall’s probably the most drunk out of all of them right now.”_

_“And he’d_ still _be asking for more rounds.”_

_Their laughter slowly dissipates into silence. The roads are still quiet and the street lights illuminate them as much as possible. The warmth inside the car is comforting, and Zayn’s glad they didn’t choose to walk there, knowing they’d probably be frozen right now._

_“Biggie, biggie, biggie, why can’t you see,” Louis sings, voice as deep as it can go. He’s pointing at Zayn, then, and Zayn can’t help the way the edges of his mouth twist up._

_“Sometimes your words just hypnotise me.” Zayn follows on as he stops at a red light._

_Louis cups his hands around his mouth and, louder, sings, “And I just love your flashy ways!”_

_“Guess that’s why they're broke and you’re so paid.” It’s almost non-distinguishable through Zayn’s chuckles, but Louis nods along anyway._

_The light goes green as Louis sings the next line, even louder. When Zayn’s in the middle of the intersection, about to cross over to the other road, his mouth is open, ready to sing again. But just passed Louis’ head something dangerous catches his eye and he stops, unable to think of doing anything else._

_“Louis!” He all but manages to shout, but Louis doesn’t react in time. Zayn throws at arm around his shoulders, his hand guarding Louis’ face but it’s not enough._

_The truck, having lost control because of the speed and the ice, collides into their car._

Zayn startles awake.

He feels a bead of sweat fall down the side of his head and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He’s struggling to breathe, chest heaving. 

He realises where he is and relaxes into the mattress, willing himself to close his eyes again and focus on nothing more than the pacing of his breath. Once settled, Zayn opens his eyes again. It’s still night-time, the room filled with darkness, but he knows he won’t be sleeping at all tonight. 

He rolls over onto his side and stares out the window where his curtains fail to cover. He hasn’t dreamt about that night that vividly in a long time. 

When Zayn first left Doncaster, it consumed him. The flashbacks would startle him out of his daydreams, out of his sleep. He’d wake up in a sweat, with a sort of unsettledness in his stomach that he’s never felt before. 

When he was couch-hopping and he hadn’t been successful with drinking until he’d passed out, hadn’t forced himself to sleep like he usually would, the flashbacks would come. He’d be questioned the next day: “Nightmares?” they’d say, a knowing tone to their voice, as though it was normal, as though being startled from sleep was nothing more than a mere annoyance. And Zayn would have to look back, say, “Yeah. Reoccurring.” or maybe just nod, depending how exhausted he’d feel. He’d have to say that knowing it wasn’t a nightmare, but real life. 

Reliving it is almost worse than the night itself. When it happened, Zayn had been pulled out of the car shortly after, having only awoken from unconsciousness. He had pain shooting through his arm and hand and a ringing in his ears. The paramedics were shining lights in his eyes and asking him questions but Zayn wasn’t paying attention to any of that. His focus was on the other side of the car, where another group of paramedics were attending to another body, one that was bloodied — one that wasn’t waking up. 

Reliving it is almost worse than the night itself because at the time, Zayn had instantly been drugged up and rushed to hospital. He hadn’t had the time to process anything at all. He ended up walking away with a fucking broken arm and some shattered bones in his hand. He was released from hospital the next day. He was fine. 

Reliving it _is_ worse than the night itself because he remembers every detail, every word spoken, every facial expression and the picture only becomes clearer the more he thinks about it. 

But Louis doesn’t remember it at all. He remembers a buffered, cleaner, less traumatising version of it. And, as Zayn lies there wide awake and with that familiar sense of dread, he realises that maybe Louis shouldn’t be told the truth at all. 

_

  
The next night, Zayn gets another text.

_Don’t know if you see these or not but just letting you know I’ll be coming tomorrow ! See you then ! :)_

It’s disheartening. Zayn hadn’t replied to Louis’ first text and now Louis thinks he’s ignoring him. Louis’ also still sticking by his word and forewarning Zayn, regardless of that. He had eaten the fruitfrom the basket Rita had brought over but he doesn’t think that warrants how heavy his stomach feels. He’ll be here tomorrow. 

Zayn should leave. He should put his car to good use for once and he should move on. Away from Hillside, away from anywhere Louis might catch him next. He could pack up and leave, easily. He could pack away his things in the boxes he came here with and he could drive and drive until he finds a different setting completely. 

Tomorrow, that’s what he should do. 

Except tomorrow comes and from Zayn’s lack of sleep the previous night, his body played catch-up and had woken up later than he’d intended. 

The sun peeps through the curtains and Zayn blinks awake, automatically searching for his phone. On the front, it tells him it’s ten minutes to twelve midday. And, fuck. 

He rolls out of bed and jumps in the shower. He’s sure Louis hasn’t arrived yet, what with the lack of incessant knocking on his front door, and he hopes that Louis will hear the shower running and realise his chances of talking to Zayn are slim to none. 

But maybe Louis had already arrived, and with his friend by his side he didn’t feel the need to push for Zayn’s attention like he had done when he was alone? Maybe he came, saw, conquered and thought Zayn didn’t want anything to do with him at all? Maybe he’d already left, and that was the last time he’d ever visit Hillside again?

Zayn steps out of the shower. 

He dries his body, blow-dries his hair, gets dressed. He tries not to think about it. He tries not to let it consume him. If worse comes to worst, he’ll wait until night-time, until he has to perform and he’ll ask Anthony. Maybe he’ll end up moving after all. 

As Zayn is buttoning up his jeans, there’s a knock at the door. 

Zayn’s head whips towards it. His heart rate accelerates and he runs a hand through his hair unintentionally. 

He knows it’s Louis. He knows it is in the way that he knocks. Which is _stupid_ and _sad_ that he knows that and it’s all the more reason why Zayn should _distance_ himself— but. 

This is the last time he’ll see him. Even if Zayn has to be endlessly boring and average and not at all inviting in order for Louis to leave and keep them both safe. Even then, at least he’ll be able to see him in the flesh just once more.

He swallows down his nerves and walks towards the door.

He unlocks it, turns the handle, opens, and —

It’s Niall mother-fucking Horan. 

Zayn feels his eyes widen as Niall’s eyes do the same. There’s a second of silence that passes and Zayn’s entire mind, body and soul is frozen. 

And then a pair of arms wrap around him. 


	10. Chapter 10

_Louis_

He can’t control himself. He wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck, excited to see him. He’s stiff, something that Louis had anticipated, but Louis doesn’t care. He pulls back with a grin and finds Zayn looking back at him with shock, and a smile forced on his face. 

Louis wants to laugh at him. He’s so weird. 

“Hi!” Louis greets, waving a hand. Zayn’s smile grows slightly but he looks like he’s in pain. “How’re you?”

“Er. Hello.” Zayn replies, blinking slow. 

Louis knows this is how he is when he meets new people. He knows that now, seeing as he’d reacted much the same when they first met. Louis turns to Niall, who’s also, oddly, looking back with shock, but his smile seems genuine. 

“Well, this here is Niall, one of me mates from Doncaster.” Louis says, gesturing to him. “And, Niall.” Louis says, placing a light hand on Zayn’s arm, hoping he’ll relax a bit. “This is Zayn.”

“Hey, mate.” Niall says, voice slightly choked off. He’s holding a hand out and his eyes look somewhat manic. Louis guesses he’s not the only one to be blindsided by Zayn’s beauty, then. “Nice to meet you.”

Zayn’s holding onto a breath and Louis’ afraid he might pass out. This is the weirdest initial interaction between two people Louis’ ever witnessed. 

“Yeah,” Zayn eventually says, and he chuckles — _chuckles_ — before shaking Niall’s hand. “You too.”

Louis doesn’t know whether to be peeved off or worried that Zayn was able to break his usual façade in mere seconds in front of Niall when it had taken him days. Louis looks between them with a brow quirked as they shake hands, biting back a whispered: _what the fuck_?

But then their hands are dropping and Niall’s sucking in a breath, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he raises his brows up and down before peering into the house behind Zayn’s shoulder. And, shit, is he _nervous_? 

“So,” Niall says, rolling up on his toes before going back down again, “Are y’gonna show us around or what?”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Jesus, Niall. Bit of manners won’t kill you, would it?”

“It’s fine.” Zayn says, making their eyes dart towards him. Zayn swallows thickly and his eyes flit from Niall’s to Louis’ once before he opens the door a little wider and steps aside. “Come—come in.”

Niall gives him a salute with two fingers as he steps inside. Louis looks on, amazed with Niall’s lack of tact when it comes to strangers. He observes Zayn as he steps in, hoping that they’ll lock eyes, but Zayn’s focus is on the wooden floors just in front of his feet. Louis bites his lip, then follows Niall. 

The door closes behind them and then Zayn joins a second later. “This is… basically it?”

Niall stands in the middle of Zayn’s house with his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ceiling and slowly turns around, as though he were looking at the place like he’d want it for his own. Louis, on the other hand, hadn’t known what to expect.

He knew Zayn’s house was small, knew it in the way that he’d seen the outside of it from all angles, but he didn’t think it was _this_ small. There’s a television, at least, one that could be older than his grandparents, but a television all the same. There’s only one chair, just like what Louis had seen outside; only one chair on the decking. The kitchen was to the left of the television and it had a bench that curved around and met up with the stove and a fridge with no pantry, opting to store everything in the overhead cupboards instead. There was a small corridor to the left of Louis as he looked at the kitchen, and just next to it was a door that led to the backyard. It’s quaint, it’s cosy, it’s… bare. 

“So this is where you’ve spent all your time, then, eh?” Louis asks, turning around to face Zayn again, but his voice sort of falters near the end and his eyebrows almost pull together at the sight he’s met with.

Zayn’s face looks completely void of colour, his fingers pressing into the palms of his hands as they lay at his sides. He’s so stiff that Louis’ sure if he went up and poked him, he’d fall instantly like a tree on its last roots.

“I like it.” Niall says, matter-of-fact. He’s running a finger over the bench top, “Cosy.”

“Thanks.” Zayn says. It comes out like anything else he’d say, completely collected and calm, but his exterior says completely otherwise.

“Where’s the best place to eat?” Niall says, coming over and elbowing Louis softly in the side. Louis draws his eyes away from Zayn and finds Niall looking at him with something in his expression that Louis can’t place. “‘M starvin’, aren’t you?”

“Er, yeah.” Louis says, struggling to gather his thoughts for a moment. “Yeah, I could eat.” He sniffs,looks at the floor, then, “Zayn?”

He asks with a touch of hopefulness, looking up through his eyelashes. Zayn’s gaze locks onto Niall, though, but he still ends up nodding so Louis takes it as a win. 

He’ll just have to take Zayn to the side and check up with him later, he decides. 

“Pizza?” Zayn asks the two of them, a questioning look on his face. 

“Of course, mate.” Niall says easily, walking towards the door, “Lead the way.”

And Zayn does. Quite literally. 

He’s walking up the road and making a point of not falling into step with Louis and Niall. Louis stares at his back as they walk, unable to stop his eyes from squinting at him, trying to figure out just exactly why he’s acting so strange.

“You weren’t kiddin’ when you said this place was tiny.” Niall says, looking around at the town. 

When they’d arrived, Louis told Niall to park at Zayn’s house, not bothering to go anywhere else first. The closer they’d gotten to Hillside, the more excited Louis had gotten. He hadn’t prepared for how much he’d grown to like Zayn, but absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. Apparently, that doesn’t always work both ways. 

Louis hums in response. “Nope.”

“Oh,” Niall says pleasantly, and then waves his hand with excitement, chuckling. Louis follows Niall’s gaze and sees the row of townies outside each of their houses looking on as though they were celebrities. Louis waves, too. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “Be prepared for the onslaught of questions later, Nialler.”

“Questions?”

“Questions.” Louis says, placing a hand in the middle of Niall’s back. “Us larger-town folk are _extremely_ interesting, you see.”

Niall barks out a laugh as Zayn dips into Carlos’ house-slash-pizzeria and the two of them follow suit. Upon entry, Louis catches Carlos pretending to faint right in front of Zayn. 

“I can’t believe my eyes!” He dramatises, Italian accent thick, “The vampire has awoken! And he come to _my_ shop!” Zayn’s shaking his head at the floor, but Louis thinks he can see the forming of a smile as he does so. “Ah, sit! Sit!” His eyes land on Louis and Niall, then, and his arms are thrown into the air instantly, “More customers!”

He walks forward and shakes Louis’ hand eagerly, welcoming him back. He greets Niall, too, and then invites them to sit down also. His energy almost causes a whiplash effect, something so contrastingly different to what they’ve seen so far. Though, Louis supposes, anything would be a stark contrast to the boy made of stone.

Louis sits down on the only table available. Zayn’s already seated, and Niall slides in next to Louis, who’s opposite Zayn.Louis tries once more to catch Zayn’s eye, and fails; Zayn preferring the sight of the tabletop instead. And, no, Louis will _not_ be jealous of a certain inanimate white marble.

They don’t have to order as Carlos insists on them trusting him to make something they’ll all enjoy, and so the three of them sit there, waiting in silence. And silence it is. The absence of conversation pierces Louis’ ears. 

Niall’s drumming on his thighs, feet bouncing as he does so. Zayn’s biting the inside of his cheek subtly, his whole body shrinking in on himself, eyes adverted. And Louis looks at him, stares at him, knowing that he can tell. 

He hopes that Zayn will break, look at him, too, and Louis can silently ask if he’s okay. But, truthfully, Louis’ completely out of his depth in this. He’s used to cold eyes, minimum words and a level of carelessness that can’t be compared. He’s not used to this. What ever happened to the sternness, the unapologetic demeanour, the “ _fuck off, Louis_.”? 

Maybe having another person with them is putting him off. He knows how to act around Louis now, they were _good_ when he left. Maybe he doesn’t know how to act around Niall, seeing as he’s Louis’ friend, yet a complete stranger to Zayn. Maybe he doesn’t want to be cold, but doesn’t know how to act friendly, either. Shit, Louis doesn’t know.

“How long y’been here, Zayn?”

The question startles both Zayn and Louis. Zayn, more so, his head whipping upwards and eyes wide as though he’s never been acknowledged before in his life. He shifts slightly in his seat, scratches the side of his nose. “A while.”

“D’you like it?” Niall asks once more. 

“Uh.” Zayn clears his throat, then shrugs. “S’alright, I s’pose?”

“Louis here’s told me you sing a bit.”

Louis turns to look at Niall. His friend is watching Zayn with a hint of curiosity, something that makes Louis frown. This whole ordeal feels like Niall’s his dad and Zayn’s his boyfriend and he’s being quizzed on whether or not he’s fit to date him. It’s completely fucking bizarre and not at all what Louis saw happening. 

“Alright, alright, Niall.” Louis says. “Before, when I said ‘questions’? I meant the _townies_ asking _us_ , not the other way around.” He tells him good-naturedly, a hint of gaiety within his words. “Go easy on ‘im, yeah?”

Niall laughs. It’s loud and brash and there’s an edge to it that reflects his nervousness from before. With the combined apprehensiveness floating around the room, Louis starts to feel it too. Bloody hell, and Louis thought this visit would be _fun_. 

“Sorry, mate.” Niall says, cheeks filling with colour as he smiles. He’s looking at Zayn as he’s got his elbow on the table, his fingers fiddling with the front bits of his hair. 

The movement of Zayn shrugging catches Louis’ eye, and Zayn’s still looking at the marble, but there’s a tiny smile hidden there. “Don’t mind.” He says, then looks up. 

They finally lock eyes and Louis’ stomach swoops. Jesus, how’s that even possible? Louis doesn’t blink, afraid he’ll miss it, and he absorbs the way Zayn’s eyes look in the sunlight, appearing lighter like burnt sienna. And with the held gaze, Louis sees the way Zayn nods just for him. It’s infinitesimal but it’s there, and for some reason Louis knows that it’s a silent thank you.

Zayn switches his attention to Niall and all too soon the moment clatters to the floor. Zayn’s hold on Louis releases and it’s like he’s plummeted down to earth again. Where was he before? Louis doesn’t know. What he does know, though, is that he needs to get a grip — preferably onto a twenty kilogram weight to keep him on the ground.

“And, yeah. I sing.”

Louis blinks, “He’s very good.”

“Y’are, are ya?” Niall asks, unabashedly delighted. 

Zayn shrugs again. His face looks brighter. “It’s how I earn my rent, so. You’d hope so.”

He lets out a half-hearted chuckle and Louis swears he hears birds chirping in the distance. But then he frowns quizzically, “Oh, didn’t know that.”

They lock eyes again but it’s nowhere near as monumental. Instead, it’s almost like a switch, something that changes just as fast — the way Zayn’s expression darkens. His eyes glaze over and his jaw’s suddenly tense. But he doesn’t look mad, just guarded. He looks like square one. 

“Not like we ever discussed it.” He says. 

Louis’ head flinches back slightly. He can see Niall switching his gaze back and forth, questioning. He’s asking something Louis doesn’t have an answer to. Because what the hell?

“Darlings!” Carlos booms as he enters, a steaming large sized pizza on a tray propped on his hand. Louis sees Niall’s entire body light up as he spots the food. Louis also sees Zayn’s eyes trained on the side of his own face from his peripherals, but Louis’ not so sure if he’s as desperate to make eye contact with him anymore, so he ignores him. “Here is your delicious meal.” Carlos places the pizza down in the middle of the table, as well as a stack of plates. “Enjoy!”

“Oh my god.” Niall moans, digging in immediately. Louis follows, ripping off a piece and biting into it. 

Louis’ got to admit, this home-made style is a lot better than the greasy, too-much-cheese mess they call pizza back home. He’s halfway through his slice already when he notices Zayn with his own on his plate, just picking at the toppings like he’s playing with it. 

“Wha’, you don’t like it?” Louis asks. 

Zayn’s gaze shifts to the middle of the table, eyebrows rising, before landing on Louis. “No,” He says, doing a side sweep to see where Carlos is, “I do.”

Louis bites the inside of his bottom lip, watching him. And, Louis’ not blind. He can see how thin Zayn is, can see it in the hollows of his cheeks to the bones of his fingertips. He first thought it was genetics, maybe, one of those people who are just naturally lanky. But he saw his kitchen, saw how untouched it was, saw how empty it was. And now Zayn’s not eating what’s in front of him, even though it smells godly. 

And it might be because Zayn’s just completely put off food from their previous conversation, might be because he can’t be bothered sitting here with people he has to pretend to like, might be because he’s already eaten, might be because of a lot of things. But it also might be because of something else.

“C’mon, then,” Louis finds himself saying, tone soft, encouraging. It surprises him. “Eat up. Wouldn’t want to discourage Carlos’ great work, now, would we?”

“If you don’t want it, I’d be more than happy to—“

“Ah,” Louis interrupts his friend with a light slap to his hand, “Down, boy. Don’t be greedy.” Niall rolls his eyes with a shrug in response, but still turns back to slice number who-knows-what that’s already in his hand happily. Louis gestures to Zayn without looking at him, suddenly slightly afraid he may have crossed some sort of unspoken line with telling him to eat. His voice ends up coming out a whisper, “Go on, all yours.”

He pretends to be endlessly entertained by his own slices from then on, inspecting them with great detail, acting as though he’s not focusing on anything else. Which is odd, really, since Zayn’s old enough to take care of himself and, for god’s sake, they’re practically _strangers_ — he shouldn’t be so concerned about the amount the boy eats — but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get a sense of success when he sees Zayn grabbing his second slice. 

When they’re finished and the plates are cleared, Louis leans back with a satisfied sigh. Niall yawns, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Zayn’s eyes are out the window, his brows pulled together just before he turns to Louis pointedly.

“So.” He says, scratching his stubble. He drops his hands to his lap and then looks out the window again. When he talks next, he sounds impatient, bored. “You’re gonna start your car up now?”

Louis can’t help but squint his eyes at him. What is this kid’s goal? What’s his angle? His deal? “Yeah,” Louis replies, a bit more venomous than intended. “I am.”

And Zayn just nods. “You know where it is, yeah?”

“Not that hard to find.”

“Cool.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Alright,” Niall says, forceful laughter slipping out of him. Louis feels a hand clap his shoulder. “Let’s go find it then, shall we, Lou?”

“We shall.” Louis says, his tone of voice exaggeratedly brighter. “Nialler.”

“I’ll cover the food.” Zayn mumbles as Niall and Louis shuffle out of the booth. “You go.”

“Oh, no.” Louis says, waving a dismissive hand. “Allow me. You’ve got rent to pay and all that.”

_We’re only the guests after all_ , Louis wants to add. He doesn’t, though, and instead strolls up to Carlos’ cash register to pay. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s so irritated. It’s just… He’d been so excited. He’d had one week back home and that was all it took for him to realise how interesting Hillside, Zayn specifically, was. And now, coming back here, knowing that Louis is nothing more than just a mere flicker on Zayn’s radar is, for lack of a better word, disheartening. 

Perhaps the fantasy of Zayn really had just been a disillusionment caused by the factors of loneliness and homesickness. How lacklustre. 

They exit Carlos’ and Louis and Niall make moves to cross over the road, towards Anthony’s. Louis doesn’t have to turn his head to know that Zayn’s already walking back to his house. 

Louis lets out a noncommittal scoff. Standard. 

“Is he…” Niall begins, slightly weary. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “That’s normal? For him?”

Louis doesn’t pretend to think about it. He sucks in a breath as he raises his brows and shrugs animatedly with his palms towards the sky, “I—I don’t know, to be honest, Neil.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, facing the truth. “I really don’t.”

Niall twists his mouth downwards and that’s all he does, leaving it at that. Louis, in amongst the barrel of emotions, feels embarrassed for the most part. His lack of judgement and his failure to know someone’s character isn’t usually him. And the way he’d spoken about Zayn to everyone… Louis shakes his head. 

“Louis.”

The voice makes him look up, and his eyes immediately lock on Anthony coming out of his house. Louis stops out the front, next to his car, and watches as Anthony jogs down the steps before meeting him, eyes bright and smile wide. 

“Nice to see you again.” He says. 

“Anthony.” Louis greets. “This is Niall.”

Anthony grins at Niall and holds out his hand. Whilst Niall’s yawning at him in response, the front door opens again and Travis appears, holding a packet of chips in one hand and licking the fingers of the other. 

“Buddies!” He calls, meandering his way down the steps much slower than Anthony had. 

Anthony’s smile has faded significantly, probably due to Niall’s lack of pleasantries, (Louis had filled Niall in completely and Niall had a fair few non-family-friendly words to say about it) and his eyes have dimmed, seeming more apologetic. 

“You, uh, you’re just here to collect your car I’m assuming?” Anthony asks, looking at the car in question. 

“I am, I am.” Louis nods. He clasps his hands in front of him. “And I suppose you’ve taken great care of her, then?”

Louis bitterly remembers he had asked Zayn to keep an eye out for him. Ha-ha. 

“Of course.” Anthony says, smile growing. “But I, uh,” He drops his gaze as he stumbles over his words, then he’s pointing towards the house, “You’ve driven a long way, did you want a cuppa? You can stay for as long as—“

“We’re just here for the car, cheers, mate.” Louis tells him, tight-lipped smile following. 

“Yeah.” Anthony says on a sigh. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, best bring my car around, then.” Niall pipes up, looking at Louis. 

Louis nods and turns around, leaving Anthony in silence and Travis with his chips in his mouth. He stares at Niall’s car parked out the front of Zayn’s and he subconsciously bites his lip in vexation. Is this really where they end?

“Y’should talk t’ him.” Niall says, seemingly on a whim. 

Louis frowns, “Who?”

“Zayn.” Niall replies, cocking his chin towards the house. “He’s weird but I like him.” 

Louis shakes his head. “We’re done talking, I think.”

“He likes you, though.” Niall says, and it makes Louis look at him like he just told him he hates Ireland. Niall laughs, “What? Why’re y’lookin’ at me like that? He does, I can tell.”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert in Zayn Studies, are you?” 

Niall splutters, “ _Zayn Studies_? Louis, it doesn’t take a genius to observe someone.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” Louis tells him, looking down at himself as he fixes his shirt, revealing his collarbones. “So let’s just use your battery to fill mine and go home once and for all.”

“Too bad I’m not starting my car until y’get in there and talk.”

Louis shoots him a glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“Ah,” Niall shrugs, reaching the hood of his car and leaning on it, “Wouldn’t I?”

“Have I ever told you how much I despise you? And that you’re the worst friend I’ve ever had?”

“Nope,” Niall says as he grins wider, the devil appearing in his eyes, “‘Cause y’wouldn’t know if that was true!”

His cackle echoes throughout the whole town

 

_Zayn_

He keeps his focus on the pavement. Left foot, right foot. He can hear Louis and Niall talking to Anthony. Louis and _Niall_. 

_Be careful, Zayn_

That was all that was echoing through his mind. Was it Niall that sent it? Is he only playing along with the fact that Louis doesn’t know who Zayn is, only pretending that Niall and Zayn weren’t close once upon a time, just to turn around and put Zayn in the firing line? 

_Be careful, Zayn_

He heard it when Niall was inside his house, when they were eating lunch, every time he felt Niall’s eyes on him like he was searching for something. Was the text sent out for comfort? Was he trying to reassure Zayn? Tell him they’re on the same side? Look out for him by warning him? 

It’s so hard to know when he’s got Louis right there, so happy to see _him_. They’d parked out the front of his house, not Anthony’s. Louis hugged him. They ate together and it reminded him of old times, when they used to head down to the fish and chips shop and kick around after school. It was way too much all at once and, fuck. 

He had no idea how much of an impact he had on Louis. They hadn’t even really had any connection until after the night Louis got drunk. But apparently that was enough. Because now Louis thinks they’re _friends._ Friends who supposedly share things with each other. — “ _Oh, didn’t know that._ ” — Friends who talk about one another to other friends — “ _Louis here’s told me you sing a bit_.” — and friends that _hug_.

And now Niall’s a witness to all of it. He’s seen how cruel Zayn has been, stringing Louis along like some kind of rag doll. Seen how selfish he’s been, taking advantage of Louis’ memory loss so they they could have a new beginning. Because that’s how it looks to an outsider, doesn’t it? And now Niall knows where he lives.

Zayn has to get out of here.

He enters his house and doesn’t have a game plan in the slightest. He paces around aimlessly, thinking about it. He’s living on borrowed time, knowing that they’ll come back to Zayn’s house to move Niall’s car closer to Louis’. With the way Zayn had walked away, he hopes that Louis doesn’t try to come back into the house, doesn’t try to talk to him again. He hopes that they’ll start their cars, leave Zayn in peace, and then drive away. 

If that’s the case, then Zayn can simply hide out until he hears the sounds of two engines driving away until they disappear. If that’s not the case, then the longer he stays here the longer he risks Niall confronting him, spilling the truth, putting them all in danger.

He’d like to think Niall’s the same as he was. He’d like to think that he’s still the same smart, humorous, go-lucky person who always had Zayn’s back. He’d like to think that, but after the trauma of the accident, it’s hard to know if anyone’s stayed the same at all.

He hears his laughter echo outside of the house.

Zayn swallows. His eyes dart towards the front door. There’s no chance of him leaving now.

A few seconds, minutes, lightyears pass and Zayn remains in front of his kitchen bench, waiting to see if the front door will open. Eventually, it does, and he sees Niall first. 

“Hey, mate.” Niall greets. 

With Louis behind him, Niall has a chance not to school his expression into something fake. All the polite smiles and hesitant contact from before made Zayn feel like they were set back a few years but now Niall’s looking at him with nothing shielding his eyes. He’s smiling, too, a genuine one with a nod that Zayn labels as familiar. 

And then they walk in, Louis slightly hanging his head and stepping into Zayn’s place begrudgingly. 

Niall strolls up to Zayn and makes sure they lock eyes. “I’ll leave you two.”

He says it casually, no heat or weight behind it like he would’ve if there was something he needed Zayn to know, like: “ _I just told Louis the truth and nothing but the truth and so help you god that he doesn’t tear you to shreds_.” but Zayn still feels himself looking at Niall in alarm. 

And then Niall does something least expected. There, but so subtle that Louis doesn’t see it; Niall pokes a light finger to Zayn’s left nipple, then his right, and lastly to his bellybutton. 

Zayn freezes at the contact, lets his mouth relax slightly open, before Niall gives him one final nod and makes his way down the corridor. Zayn lets his eyes follow, trying to resist the urge to follow him and swoop him up into a hug. For them, that’s their way of saying: “Hey, I’m here. I got you.”

“Don’t mind him.” 

Zayn looks away from Niall’s retreating figure to land on Louis. He’s leaning against the wall with his shoulder, facing Zayn with his ankles crossed and inspecting his fingernails.

Zayn’s brain fails to catch up with him, “Er—“

“He dragged me in here because he thinks we have some sort of _feud_ that needs to be spoken about.” Louis continues, his voice says nonchalant but his face reads irritated. “But I’ve got nothing to say and I’m sure you’re the same?”

When no response immediately comes, Louis slowly raises his gaze to look at Zayn. The quirked brow that follows sort of pressures him for an answer. 

“Well, do you… think we have a feud?”

It’s not the right thing to say, apparently, because now Louis’ leaning off the wall and giving Zayn an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

Zayn knew Louis had been annoyed at him but they never made it known that they were fighting. “Why would we have a fight in the first place?”

Zayn stares and Louis stares harder. Louis then cradles the bridge of his nose in between his fingers as his other hand supports his elbow. As he drops his hand, he says, “You have got to be one of _the_ most infuriating people I’ve ever met.”

Zayn grits his teeth together. He looks out the window. “Sorry you think that.”

Louis lets out a defeated sigh and drops his hands by his sides. Zayn’s gaze remains on the trees outside, their leaves swaying lightly in the breeze, altogether. It’s a stark contrast to the still air inside, thickness between them. 

“What is wrong with you?”

It comes out tired, almost lowered to a whisper. It surprises him and it makes his eyes stray to Louis. Zayn comes out with the first thing he thinks of. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Because it’s true. He doesn’t know why Louis had expected Zayn to leap into his arms, to be over-accommodating during his stay, to laugh sporadically at his jokes, to like him at all. But Louis had, and all it did was build something out of nothing and disappoint him further than Zayn ever could.

This was entirely Louis’ own fault. 

As a response, Louis bounces his head from side to side slowly. He looks up at the ceiling, claps his hands together once before clasping them. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

It comes out a mumble, and with the way he’s acting Zayn knows he’s uncomfortable. He’s impatient, he wants to leave and he’d rather be anywhere other than here, in Zayn’s house, having this conversation.

But Zayn can’t help but be confused. “So why d’you think I do?”

Louis smiles but there’s no humour behind it. He hangs his head, “Ah,” He says, scratching at his nose. He looks back up and inhales deeply, “I don’t know, Zayn. I don’t know.” He turns his hands so the palms are facing Zayn, and then he’s slapping them onto his thighs. “I’m an idiot, maybe? I’m definitely an idiot, because my perception of you had been _completely_ off, hadn’t it? I fucking—“ He cuts himself off, shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s saying this and vaguely laughs. “I fucking told everyone how, in amongst this shithole of a town, you were the one who made it bearable.” Louis pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks at the ceiling again. “Funny, right? And now Niall probably thinks I’m definitely on crack.”

Zayn hadn’t noticed he was digging his front teeth into his bottom lip until he began to taste metal. He’s hurt Louis. Again. 

_I’m sorry_ , he wants to say. “Where is Niall?” He says instead. 

And then Louis looks at him differently, as though plucked from a trance. “Er… I’m not sure?”

They share a look, the tension somehow dissipating, and Louis follows Zayn as he walks down the corridor towards his bedroom where the door’s now shut. He opens it up and sure enough, there’s Niall, fast asleep on top of the covers. 

“Shit.” He hears Louis mutter from behind him. “I’m sorry, about him.” Zayn turns and they’re face to face, so much closer than before. From here, Zayn can see the beginnings of a moustache above his lip, a freckle on his neck, the protrusion of his collarbones. “I… I’ll wake ‘im up.” Louis says awkwardly, blinking Zayn out of his trance. “It was a long drive, he’s probably just—“

Zayn shakes his head. “Let him sleep.”

He watches as Louis’ eyes scope the area around him in confusion, “But…”

“He shouldn’t drive back home if he’s tired. It’s fine.”

Louis locks eyes with him and doesn’t do much else. Zayn wonders if his brain’s short-circuited. 

He sort of wants to laugh, but then he realises how much spare time he and Louis have now that Niall won’t be waking up anytime soon, if the snores coming from his direction are any indication. Zayn can’t remember Niall ever snoring, but that’s hardly the biggest surprise today. 

“…Okay.”

Zayn shuts the door softly and when he turns, Louis’ looking at him expectantly, waiting for Zayn to do something like continue their conversation or kick him out. Behind Louis, Zayn can see the trees through the window and he gets an idea. 

“Since we have some time,” He begins, moving passed Louis in the corridor, “Let’s go somewhere.”

He can almost see Louis’ eyes bug out of his head. “What?”

“Let’s go.” Zayn continues, gesturing towards the front door. “Wanna show you something.”

Louis looks at him, then the bedroom door, then him again. “You’re really just gonna let a complete stranger sleep in your bed alone in your house?”

Zayn merely shrugs. “Gives him some quiet.”

Louis frowns and continues walking, “Wha’, you got a crush on him or something?”

He budges passed Zayn, towards the door, and Zayn twists his mouth to suppress a smile. 

_

  
They make it to the forest and Zayn can sense Louis’ trepidation as he walks in silence beside him, the two of them stepping on grass and fallen leaves and over rocks and sticks. There’s a tiny path that Zayn’s created from going back and forth so many times, his feet creating the earth’s long-term memory. Birds chirp above them and for a moment Zayn thinks he’s alone, but then Louis’ coughing behind him and Zayn breathes sharply through his nose. 

Louis didn’t have to follow. He could have held his ground and said he’s not going anywhere until Zayn apologises. He could have followed Zayn for a bit and then turned to run and lock Zayn out of his own house. Zayn knows Louis’ capable of such things, but instead Louis stays.

“You know when you said you weren’t gonna kill me?” Louis asks, voice airy, “Is that fact still accurate?” 

Zayn’s in front of him, so he allows a smirk, “If I said yes, would you believe me?”

No reply comes for a second or two, and it’s when they’re stepping over a branch that Louis says, “Surprisingly, yes. Mostly for the reason that I don’t think you’d have a great chance of killing me.”

Zayn’s smile grows, “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Louis says on a exasperated sigh, “God, is it that hard to believe? I’m a lot faster than you and I’ve been told I have quite strong thighs. What have you got? Are you gonna kill me with a smoulder, Zayn?”

Zayn’s smile wipes off. He raises his brows and thinks about why someone would have commented on Louis’ ‘strong thighs’. He tries to remove the thought immediately.

“I might.” Zayn says, throat suddenly dry. 

“Absolutely terrifying, you are.” Louis comments off-handedly, “Y’know, you seem like you could be the most intimidating person on earth, but i’m starting to think you’re just a real big dork. Like one of those nerdy, awkward—“

His sentence stops right when Zayn thought it would. They’ve stepped out of the forest and into the clearing, the sight of the city prevalent from where they stand. Zayn chances a look at Louis and finds himself almost giddy at the way Louis’ mouth has fallen open, his eyes shining in wonder.

“Wow,” Louis breathes. “ _Wow_.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, still looking at Louis.

Louis looks at it for a little longer, his eyes coating over all that he can see, before turning back to Zayn. If he’s surprised to find Zayn’s gaze already on him, Louis doesn’t show it. 

“Why did you show me this?” He asks, but his tone isn’t accusing. His expression relaxes a little, then he says, “You’re about to push me off, aren’t you?”

Zayn lets out a surprising laugh and then immediately looks to his shoes. “’S’your last day.” He shrugs. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

Louis acts as though he wants to make fun of that last bit, but he holds back. Instead, he looks back at the city. “Well, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re the only person I’ve told about this place.” Zayn says before he can stop himself. The ever-longing guilt and voices in his head that tell him to back out now are being overshadowed by the overwhelming warmth he feels from Louis’ gratitude. “Just, by the way.”

And Louis’ looking at him with shock, “Wait, really?”

Zayn nods, face slightly cringing at how true it is. “Yeah.” He turns back to the view but Louis’ eyes remain on him. Zayn prays he’s not blushing. “But you should see it at night. It’s prettier, then.”

Why? Why does he keep talking?

“At night?” Louis asks. Zayn keeps silent. “First you want me to leave as soon as possible and now you’re saying I should stay late enough to see the stars?”

Zayn prepares himself for the onslaught of Louis — the, “ _you make my brain hurt_ ”’s and the sentences that describe Zayn as anything that means impossible and/or confusing — but what he’s met with is soft eyes and a hint of laughter. 

Zayn wants to collapse. He wants to take Louis with him, wrap his arms around him and kiss him on the head. He craves it, now, looking at him in such close proximity with a breath-taking landscape just beyond them. He wants someone to yell out “ _cut_!” and the scene to be over so Zayn can drop this exhausting charade of not caring and Louis can drop his seamless charade of not remembering him and they can go back to how they were, before everything. 

“I don’t want you to go.” Zayn tells him, aware of how small his voice sounds. “This is— it’s a lot for me.”

_Be careful, Zayn_

Louis nods. His eyes are full of questions but he doesn’t ask a thing. Zayn wonders what he’s thinking. 

They end up sitting on the cliff, watching the clouds move and listening to the rustling of the leaves. There’s silence between them but also a new level of understanding that makes the absence of conversation comfortable. It’s then, as he looks at the place he came from to the place he is now, that he realises he’s not prepared to let Louis go.


	11. Chapter 11

_Louis_

They decide to walk back to the town after a while of just sitting there, looking out at something that was Zayn’s secret, something that Zayn wanted to share with him. It was completely left of field and not at all what Louis was expecting, but his heart rate hasn’t slowed since and he’s fighting the urge to grin from ear to ear to not freak out Zayn. 

“ _I don’t want you to go_ ,” He had admitted, eyes down and voice as soft as Louis’ ever heard it. “ _It’s a lot for me_.”

And Louis hadn’t known how to respond. He wanted to ask why? What is? But it didn’t feel right. Zayn was going out on a limb, explaining how he felt for just about the first time. It was like the cement walls had turned to glass for just a moment, so fragile they could break. So, Louis let the confession hang in the air, acknowledged but unanswered, and vowed to be tender with Zayn from now on, however long that may be.

“Hopefully Niall’s still asleep,” Louis says as they walk through the forest, “If he wakes and realises we’re both gone, he might send out a search party for me.”

Zayn just smiles openly at him in response. It reminds Louis of how he looked the morning Louis was hungover, receiving warm looks from Zayn all day. At the time, Louis had been suspicious. Now, it’s contagious, and Louis feels himself return it. 

They're at end of the forest, reaching Hillside and Zayn’s house. It’s not long until their eyes lock onto Randy, across the road and outside his house, engrossed with Niall as he laughs outwardly, his face scrunched up and the sound reaching Louis’ ears. 

“Well, he seems bloody worried, doesn’t he?” Louis says, half-amused, half-offended. “Niall!”

Niall looks over and his eyes brighten once he sees Louis and Zayn together. Randy sees them, too, and gives them a wave. They wave back and then Niall’s leaping over, a joyous spring in his step. 

“How’re ya lads?” He asks, eyes shining. “Did y’work everythin’ out or what?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you just _love_ to know?” Louis says, placing Niall in a half-hearted headlock. “Thanks for stressing about my whereabouts and all that.”

“No worries.” Niall replies, grinning and holding onto Louis’ forearm that’s locked in front of his neck. “Already made a new best friend in case y’never came back.”

Louis gasps, stands up straighter. “You could never replace me.”

Niall cackles and Louis pretends to punch him in the stomach multiple times before stepping back completely and adjusting his fringe. When he looks up, he sees Zayn observing them quietly, an odd smile decorating his face.

It doesn’t last long, though, since Zayn knows he’s being spotted and he brings a hand up to run over his nose, dropping his expression. Louis’ smile remains. 

“So, it’s around two-ish,” Niall says, looking at them both, “What the hell is there to do around here?”

_

They had spent the day much like Louis had when he’d met everyone. They went to every house, spoke to every person, had a drink, had a laugh, and Niall had enjoyed every minute of it.

Niall had shaken their hands, fallen into conversation easily, and had the townies falling in love with him in about two seconds flat. Louis had stayed by his side, reuniting with everyone, but mainly watching at how in his element his best mate was. 

Zayn had joined them, but stuck to the side mostly. He was either lingering at doorways, sitting at the furtherest chair available or just staying far back enough so he was in the background. Louis had caught his eye a few times and they shared a smile. He hopes that this is somewhat of a new habit of theirs. 

And now they’re at the bar, because of course they are, and, apparently, they won’t be leaving anytime soon because Niall’s now on his fifth beer. 

“Still don’t know why you’re not drinking, mate.” Niall tells Zayn, something he’s repeated over the last four beers. 

“He’s _performing_.” Louis repeats for the forth time, rolling his eyes, “Do you actually have a brain in there or is it more like a tunnel, easier for information to go in one ear and out the other?”

Zayn stifles a chuckle into the back of his hand. Louis tries not to let his heart burst. Niall, on the other hand, looks at Louis, scandalised. “Rude.”

But then he’s laughing and Louis shakes his head, hiding his smile as he takes a sip from his vodka and raspberry. He’s _not_ about to taste that rubbish they call beer ever again. 

“Well, I should get up there, then.” Zayn says, gesturing to the stage with his thumb. “I’ll see you guys later.”

He slides out of the booth and Niall gives him a round of applause as he walks through the crowd and up onto the stage, guitar hanging in front of him. He adjusts the microphone, finds his fingers on the chords, and opens his mouth. 

From the first note, Louis’ stuck in a trance. 

“He’s pretty, innit he?” 

Louis blinks. He doesn’t know how long he was there, looking at him without moving. It must have been a fair few songs, because Niall’s drink is newly empty and people have shifted around the bar from where they were when Zayn started. 

He shakes himself out of his trance and tears his attention to Niall who’s already grinning at him, eyes gleaming and lips shiny. Louis looks his friend up and down from where they’re sitting at the booth. “You fancy him, d’ya?”

Niall snorts, “Think you might.” His grin grows, if that’s even possible. “You’re gawkin’ at him like he’s performing a strip tease.”

“I’d have half a mind not to toss my drink down your shirt right now.” Louis shoots back, “And I’m not, thank you very much. I just happen to appreciate talent when I see it.”

“Is that so?” Niall says, raising his brows up and nodding once, not believing him for a second, “And where were ya when I woke up today?”

Louis rattles his brain for a reply but everything sounds a little too intimate — “ _we took a walk through the trees_ ” “ _he showed me the view of the city_ ,” “ _we left the town and had a chat_ ,” “ _he led me through a forest and showed me a pretty cityscape where he told me he didn’t want me to leave_ ” — no, that would never go down well. 

“We left ‘cause your snoring was deafening the whole town.” Louis settles on, taking another sip. Niall gives him a look. “Seriously, were you _that_ tired you had to collapse on some stranger’s bed? I offered to wake your arse up but Zayn said to let you sleep for _some_ reason.”

“Ah, so he’s thoughtful, too.” Niall says, bringing his pint up to clink with Louis’ glass, “I approve.”

“Approve? Right.” Louis rolls his eyes, and then downs his drink. “With that, I’ll be back.”

He _could_ tell Niall that he’s absolutely besotted with Zayn, could even tell him that he might have a little bit of an inkling that Zayn could possibly feel the same way; except for the fact that he knows how much Niall loves to play match-maker. He’s seen the way he’s embarrassed Harry in front of potential partners, how he’s pushed Liam in front of pretty girls without preparation, and Louis knows once the secret is out, Niall will pounce on the opportunity to ‘help’ in any way he can. Except, instead of helping, he’d most likely be obliviously tarnishing every delicate move Louis’ made to get closer and closer to Zayn. 

Suddenly, as he’s waiting for his second drink, someone crashes into him and he stumbles a little, grabbing onto a bar stool for support. When he looks next to him, who else could it have been but Anthony.

“Shit, I’m—I’m _so_ sorry, Lou.” He says, eyes slightly glazed as he runs his fingers through his quiff. “Really, I didn’t mean to—someone must’ve… here,” He turns to the bar, “Let me buy you a drink.”

He raises his fingers to Randy, but Louis stops him in time, “It’s okay, I’ve already ordered one.”

“Let me pay for it, then.” Anthony insists, his afore level of casualness changing to something more desperate. 

Louis shuts his eyes momentarily and sighs, “Anthony—“

“Listen, I know what I did was fucking shitty.” He says, leaning into Louis’ space. Louis smells the beer on his breath. “Lying to you like that was… _pathetic_ but I just wasn’t prepared to let you go so easily.” He swallows, looks into Louis’ eyes, “I kinda like you a lot.” He shrugs coyly and shifts a bit closer, “If you haven’t noticed.”

He smiles, and Louis narrows his eyes at him. Randy places his drink on the bar and Louis turns his full body to Anthony, “Hey, here's some tidbit information for future reference, yeah? If you’re gonna apologise to somebody don't _add_ in a ‘but’ followed by an excuse of why you did it, mate, because then the whole thing seems a little dishonest, alright?" He doesn't know what he expects in return, but Anthony's slowly blinking, blank eyes staring back at him elicit a laboured sigh from Louis. "You’re welcome.”

He takes his drink and turns around, moving towards where Niall has recruited two other people into the booth — Pete and Wendell — and are laughing over the noise of Zayn’s angelic voice. With the reminder, Louis chances a look at the singer. He feels his heart stutter when he finds Zayn’s gaze already locked on him, his stare intense. 

Louis finds it hard to look away, but Zayn does first, breaking it to look down as his fingers change chords.

“Knew you’d be back!” Pete shouts from his position in the booth, raising his glass up towards Louis. 

Louis smiles at him and shrugs, “Yeah, yeah, well,” He slides into the booth next to Niall, which doesn’t view Zayn. Although, that’s probably a good thing if he’s hoping to hold any conversation at all. “How could I stay away from Wendall here?”

Wendall giggles into her hand, shoo-ing Louis with her other. Pete looks at him playfully, “Hey, hey, now. Watch yourself.”

Louis laughs and so does Niall and the four of them talk over their drinks. He learns that the couple opposite them had actually met here in Hillside six years ago when Wendall arrived here with her boyfriend at the time. Pete had loved her the moment he saw her — he had told them — and Wendall’s then-boyfriend had caught on. He ended up fighting him, but Pete didn’t throw one punch back. Wendall had broken up with her boyfriend then and there, claiming that she didn’t want to be with someone so violent.

Wendall and Pete got married the next summer in their backyard. 

“How about you, Niall?” She questions, her green eyes encapsulating her gentle nature. “Do you have any love in your life at the moment?”

“Tonnes of love, Wendy.” Niall tells her with a grin and throws in a wink for good measure. “And plenty more to give.”

“He’s not a one-lady-man, our Niall.” Louis says, throwing an arm around his shoulders as Niall lets out a cackle. “Are ya?”

Niall scrunches up his face, “I definitely am!”

“Are you a one-lady-man, Louis?” Pete asks as Wendall watches with a soft smile. 

This makes Niall throw back his head, laughing growing louder. Louis widens his eyes and looks at the couple as he points to his over-dramatic friend and mouths, ‘what the hell?’

“He couldn’t be a one-lady-man if his life depended on it,” Niall says, struggling to breathe. Louis looks at the pinkness of his cheeks and the slight droopiness of his eyes. A-ha! So the beer _is_ stronger here than it is in Doncaster. 

Louis takes his arm away from Niall’s shoulders and leans over the table, thinking he should probably clarify the fact that he’s actually _not_ a womanising two-timer. “I’m gay, so, no ladies for me.”

“Oh,” Wendall says sweetly without the blink of an eye, “Any man in your life, then? Or any men you _want_ in your life?”

“Not at the moment, no.” Louis lies. Of course he does, but he’s not about to confess the fact that he’s lusting over one of the townies, word spreads faster than water here.

“That’s a shame.” Pete adds, “So there’s nobody you’ve got your eye on?”

“Nope, sorry. Bit boring, I am.”

He earns a pitiful smile in response, then, “Great performance, dear.” Wendall’s complimenting Louis’ shoulder. And it’s not until Louis turns, when he realises Zayn’s right there, looking at him.

Louis hadn’t realised the music had stopped and that Zayn was already off stage. It’s a good thing he didn’t say anyone’s names, then.

“Yeah, you sounded great.” Louis tells him, enthusiastic and a little bit breathless. He comes to the conclusion that maybe it's not the type of alcohol up here that's making him as drunk as he gets, but rather that he's drunk on Zayn. And, christ, isn't _that_ a thought. He fixes a smile, making sure his words sound as genuine as he means them, and locks eyes with the boy near his shoulder.

But there’s something misplaced on Zayn’s face. There’s a small line between his brows before it clears and he brings a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He nods at Louis, then looks to the rest of the table. 

“Thank you.”

“Have a seat, Zayn, we might go for a game of pool.” Pete says, already beginning to scoot out of the booth, giving half-waves to Louis and Niall as he goes. 

“You mean _you’ll_ go for a game of pool and I’ll sit back and watch.” Wendall comments, dragging her words and rolling her eyes at Niall and Louis with an accompanied smile. 

They laugh in response and then the couple are gone. Zayn replaces their spot and Louis sort of wishes it was acceptable to sit next to him without an excuse. 

“You sounded incredible, Zayn.” Niall says. His eyes are looking at him in astonishment and something in his voice reads disbelief. Louis’ familiar with the feeling. 

Zayn ducks his head with the beginnings of a smile. “I try.”

“I never knew y—“ Niall starts saying, but then cuts himself off. Louis watches as Zayn’s head sort of snaps back up, eyes flashing with alarm before dulling completely. Odd. “I… Yeah, you’re talented.”

To which Zayn merely nods, his walls somewhat creeping back up. Louis can’t help but frown at the whole ordeal, but he’ll be damned if this brings on another pizzeria episode. 

“SO!” He says, clapping his hands together and gaining the attention of Zayn. Niall remains with his head down, hand on the back of his neck. “What’ll it be, rockstar? Filthy beer or glamorous spirits?”

“Er,” Zayn says, flicking his gaze down to Louis’ drink, then back up to his eyes again. “Spirits?”

“Right answer!” Louis congratulates, not missing the way Zayn’s eyes shine a little. _Shine_ , for god’s sake, is he even real?

“I’ll buy the next round, though.” Zayn insists, looking mostly at Louis. He points at the finished glass in front of him. “Another vodka raspberry?”

Louis hums in deliberation. He swirls his straw around the drink, “No, I think I might try tequila this time.”

Zayn looks at Niall and then his gaze slides over to settle on Louis, “You’re gonna mix?”

And Louis feels weird. He turns to look at Niall, but he’s quickly avoiding his gaze, looking down to his lap. When he turns back at Zayn, he sees him biting the corner of his lip. “Yeah?”

“Are you—?” Zayn sniffs, stopping himself. “Yeah, alright.”

He steps down out of the booth and Louis immediately zeros in on Niall. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Niall asks before taking a gulp from his beer.

“You and Zayn acting as though I can’t handle my liquor.”

Niall does something between a hiccup and a snort. It’s quite impressive, actually. “Because you can’t.”

Louis huffs, crossing his arms. “I don’t know if I like the fact that you and Zayn are having unspoken, silent conversations without me.”

“Aww,” Niall suddenly coos, unnecessarily loud before wrapping Louis up in his arms in a side-ways hug. “Don’t be sad—“

“Get your grubby hands off me—“

“—That you’re not the centre of attention—“

“—Stop touching me—“

“—I still love you the most—“

“—You ugly Leprechaun—“

“—In the whole wide world—“

It’s the giggle that makes Louis freeze. Niall’s still squeezing onto him, rocking side to side, but Louis’ eyes widen just that little bit more, ears perking up in disbelief. 

Zayn giggled. It was high-pitched and unabashed and nothing like Zayn’s usual secretive spills of laughter. And as Louis turns his head a little, he sees Zayn watching on with a smile that makes his eyes curl and his teeth show. 

If Louis wasn’t being held so securely he might have just about fallen off his seat. 

“Why do you love to see me suffer?” Louis mumbles in defeat as Niall presses his face into Louis’ hair. He’s not sure who exactly he’s referring to.

Zayn places their drinks down onto the table and his smile’s gone but the ghost of it still lingers in his eyes. In Zayn’s hand is a glass of brown liquid that’s not beer.

“Bourbon and coke?” Niall asks him, hold still not letting up around Louis.

Louis imagines it must be an absolute _sight_ — Niall smiling contently with his arms wrapped around a very petulant Louis who’s attempting to free himself — and he doesn’t blame Zayn for laughing, actually. 

“Vodka.” Zayn tells him before sipping out of the glass. 

Louis sees his own glass and notices that Zayn remembered to get a straw, too. He mentally kicks himself straight after the fact because bloody _hell_ , when will he realise that bare-minimum actions are _not_ another way of saying ‘hey, I fancy you’? 

“No, but really, you can get off me now.” 

“Okay.” Niall says, and he releases his grip, but not before smacking a kiss on the side of Louis’ forehead. 

“Ugh,” Louis scrunches his nose and wipes his head with his forearm. “You really do have a lot of love to give, don’t ya?”

Niall barks out another laugh and lets up, loosening himself completely and leaning on the table, looking at Zayn. “So, who’s next?”

This time, it’s Zayn and Louis who share a look. Both bewildered, Louis’ pretty sure Zayn’s thinking the exact same thing he is: that Niall’s about to pounce on Zayn and give him a cuddle. 

The weariness in Zayn’s eyes almost makes Louis laugh, “What?”

“Y’know,” Niall says, oblivious to Zayn’s mini heart-attack, “Who performs after you?”

“Oh,” Zayn exhales. Louis grins into the back of his hand. “Er, nobody. S’just me.”

“ _What_?” Niall asks, eyes widening. “No. Really?”

And Zayn looks at him, amused. “Yeah.”

Niall frowns, “Y’just go on in silence? For the rest of the night?”

Louis hadn’t even thought of it, to be honest. But he can see how Niall’s making the immediate comparison to the night-life back home when they’d go to the city. Non-stop music playing in any club or bar they’d visit. Now, here, there’s nothing but chatter, drinks clattering together and the faint noise of the game of pool. It really is a lot lamer than Louis had originally thought, looking at it now. 

“Basically, yeah.” Zayn responds, and Louis can see the corners of his mouth twitch up, fighting a smile, “We used to have a radio that played whatever was trending at that point, but.” He shrugs, “It broke a week or two ago.”

And Niall looks between a blend of disappointed, offended and disgusted all in one. “And you’re the only one allowed on that stage?”

Zayn’s eyebrows move upwards a little, “No, no. Not at all.”

“So it wouldn’t be weird if I jumped up there and sang somethin’, too?”

And Zayn does smile. It’s small but it reaches his eyes and Louis finds himself doing the same. But then Louis processes what Niall just said and he turns to him in his seat and grabs him by the shoulder.

“Oh my god, you _have_ to, Niall.” 

Niall’s eyes are already bright, grinning, “Yeah, I bloody will.”

Louis lets out a laugh and hits the table gently as he does so, “Oh, this is gonna be so, so good.”

He slides out of the booth and Niall does right after. Louis smacks Niall on the bum as he heads towards the stage and Louis looks back at Zayn, who’s openly grinning now, top teeth on display. He looks so boyish like this, so relaxed and entertained. It’s inviting.

Louis tells himself the only reason he chooses to sit down next to him is merely because, how else would he be able to watch Niall?

“Have you ever seen ‘im perform before?” Zayn’s asking him once Louis settles, face close. 

They were at this proximity back at the house as they stood in the corridor after discovering Niall asleep. He’d seen different flecks of colour in Zayn’s eyes then, saw a unique brown spot next to his pupil in one eye, that’s how close they were. In that moment, Louis had completely forgotten why they were even arguing in the first place. 

Louis looks away. Conversation, right. “No, never.”

When Niall steps onto stage, Louis hears Sienna and Caroline cheering in the crowd. Louis joins in, framing his hands around his mouth. 

“What’s with the fuckin’ silence, am I right?” Niall says, followed by the loud agreement from the crowd, Niall positively beaming. “I reckon we do a bit of karaoke, ey?” The screams get louder and Niall looks behind him, realising the bareness of the stage. “Uh, without music, though.” He laughs and it fades out of the microphone as he bends down and takes a long chug of his beer before standing back up again. “We’ll start it off with a classic, shall we?” 

“He should perform every night.” Zayn comments.

Louis looks at him, his eyes looking at Niall with an open fondness, something that makes Louis question him a little, but it’s not the first time someone has taken a likeness to his friend so quickly.

“ _Fly me to the moon_ ,” Niall sings, voice low like Frank Sinatra, the crowd sings along immediately, “ _Let me play among the stars_.”

“Loves it, doesn’t he?” Louis says, his smile growing when Niall points to him and winks. 

“Yeah.” Zayn replies. He looks at Louis but Louis remains looking at Niall, not sure whether he’ll survive seeing Zayn’s eyes right next to him. “You’re close, then?”

“Hm?” Louis asks, and, despite himself, turns. Is he too close? Does Zayn want him to move? He can see the individual hairs of his beard, the lines on his lip. 

“You and Niall.” Zayn says. And then Louis realises he’s watching Zayn’s mouth and his eyes immediately flick back up to Zayn’s eyes. His pupils seem darker, larger than before. Louis’ sort of rendered speechless. “You’re close?”

“Oh,” Louis breathes. He forces himself to look to the stage again. “Yeah. Best mates.”

“Who else? From Doncaster, I mean."

“ _You are all I long for_ ,” Niall sings, “ _All I worship and adore_.”

He wonders briefly whether Zayn’s only filling in conversation, saying words to not make it awkward between them. But Zayn’s focus hasn’t left Louis’ face since they started talking and Louis’ growing more and more nervous the longer he sits there. 

“Well, there’s Liam,” Louis says, then finally meets his gaze, “And Harry.”

The tiny smile on Zayn’s face makes Louis swallow. “And what’re they like?”

“Not as, erm, _Niall-like_ , I guess you could say.” Louis tells him, then smiles as he looks at his hands. When he places his attention on Zayn again, he’s blinking slow, almost like he’s being lulled by the sound of his voice. What a weird thought. “Liam’s just the nicest person ever, so, obviously I try my hardest every day to rile him up.”

“Obviously.” Zayn says, laughter in his voice. 

“Obviously.” Louis repeats. “And Harry’s probably just about the weirdest dude you could ever meet, but entirely charismatic, y’know?” Zayn nods. Louis swirls around the liquid in his glass. “Not to be, like, a sap or... or anything, but…” Louis looks at the table, then up at Niall. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve them.”

“ _Fill my heart with song, let me sing for everyone_.”

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Zayn frown. “You do deserve them.”

Louis lets his finger trace the side of his glass. He smiles softly, “Cheers.”

There’s silence and Louis begins to feel insecure with how Zayn’s inspecting his profile. Then, “Why d’you think you don’t?”

Niall finishes the song and the crowd applauds, clapping and shouting and Louis joins them, trying to ignore the way Zayn still stares. _God_ , he’s intense. 

“If someone gives me another beer, I’ll sing another.” Niall tells the crowd, and it takes about three seconds for a beer to be passed along from the bar to the stage. Niall finds it hilarious and laughs into the microphone before cracking open the beer and sipping it. “Alright, here’s _Hotel California_.”

 

_Zayn_

It’s windy when they leave the bar. Zayn notices as much because he watches how Louis’ hair blows out of his face as he smiles at him, cheeks slightly pink and lips red, the blue in his eyes dimmed with the lack of light. 

He’s stunning. But Zayn still tears his eyes away — knowing there’s nothing that will come from merely looking at his former best friend, understanding that all they are now are two people that somewhat enjoy each other’s company — and in that moment he feels like he did back when they were teenagers, when Zayn would write lyrics in his head about the way Louis looks and Louis would carry on in endless oblivion. Even under new circumstances, even as strangers, Zayn’s still the victim of unrequited love.

_“Not at the moment, no.”_ Louis had said.

Alcohol buzzes through his veins, the familiar warmth spreading through him. He hadn’t drunk as much as Louis and Niall; the two of them downing drinks in quick succession. He took the quiet route tonight, admiring how they interacted with each other and realised not much as changed. He wonders if Niall thinks the same. 

He admired them, but he also felt a sharp pang inside whenever he saw them get close, saw the way they shared inside jokes and made each other laugh so easily. Zayn wants that. He wishes Louis had seen Zayn as soon as he woke from his coma. He wishes they got to rebuild their relationship. He wishes Louis knew Zayn was his partner in crime, through everything.

“For such a tiny place, they sure are loud.” Niall comments as he walks up to Zayn and throws an arm around his shoulders. Zayn tenses, chances a look to Louis who’s strolling ahead. Niall pats Zayn’s chest. “Aren’t they?”

Zayn lets out an unsure chuckle, “Yeah. Sometimes. When they wanna be.”

“Ha,” Niall says before taking another sip from the beer he took, “Wannabe.”

To which Louis spins around and points to Niall with both hands, “If you wanna be my lover.”

“Ya gotta get with my friends,” Niall follows on seamlessly, tugging Zayn closer to his side. 

Then Louis’ pointing at Zayn, and Zayn has no choice to continue, apparently. “Make it last forever.” He mumbles.

Niall throws both his arms up in the air as he and Louis sing, “Friendship never ends!”

Louis grins and steps closer to them before peeling the bottle out of Niall’s hand and drinking it down. He doesn’t spit it back out like Zayn thought he might, instead he keeps holding it.

“You’re our friend, Zayn.” Niall tells him, smiling but his eyes are earnest. 

Zayn feels his heart swell briefly and he smiles at the ground. He hears Louis humming in agreement. 

They reach his house and Louis claims he’s going to bed straight away, directing to Zayn’s bedroom without further notice. Zayn watches him go without protest, and then he catches Niall looking at him with a knowing gaze. 

“Y’can sleep in there, too.” Niall says, voice a failed whisper. He tries to play it off casually, but his words are filled with mirth and a hint of cockiness that makes Zayn feel uneasy. 

“S’okay.” Zayn responds. “You take the bed. You’re guests.”

Niall snorts a laugh, then tugs on the sleeve on Zayn’s jumper and before he knows it, Zayn’s being led outside to the back porch. For a moment, they stand there. He notices Niall eyeing up the one chair placed there and decides not to sit down. 

Zayn finds himself feeling slightly insecure, knowing that Niall’s seeing the way Zayn lives his life now. It must look so sad and lonely, so different to what he used to have. He’s sure Niall still lives his life in the only way he knows how, and he’d be eyeing up Zayn’s circumstances with pity.

"Backyard's bigger than your actual house." Is all Niall says. 

Zayn, cautious and slightly cold, lets out a short chuckle, "Yeah."

Slowly, the mood shifts. It's different when it's just the two of them, when Louis' not there to act in front of. There's no hiding, now.

"I, uh," Niall says with a sigh, being the first one to break the silence. He clears his throat and his eyes almost clear, too. “Dunno how you’ve done it this far, mate.” 

Zayn doesn’t realise how tense he’s gotten until he sees how his arms hang tightly by his sides, hands in his pockets. Even drunk, Niall’s nervous. 

“How d’you mean?”

“Like,” Niall breathes out, eyebrows etched in worry as he looks around. “With Louis and that. You’ve played it off so coolly. Louis has no fuckin’ idea. I almost fucked it up plenty of times in just one day.” He shakes his head. “I dunno how y’do it, mate. I honestly don’t.”

Zayn swallows thickly. For some reason, he almost feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He shuts them, squeezes them tight. When he opens, he finds Niall looking out at the backyard, a sickly expression on his face. Zayn had undermined how hard this could be for him. 

“Isn’t easy, I’ll tell you that.” Zayn admits. He sees Niall bite the inside of his cheek. “I’ve debated with myself over and over again on whether I should tell him or not.”

Niall turns back to him, his eyes wide. “Really?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah. But I chicken out every time. I’m a…” He shuffles his feet against the deck, “‘M a coward, I know.”

But Niall’s shaking his head again, “No,” He says, “No, you don’t have to feel like you need to.”

Zayn sucks in his bottom lip, then clears his throat. “Y’reckon?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, “Just let it happen how you want it to. There’s—“ He shrugs, “There’s plenty of time.”

Time. The word echoes in his head. He thinks back to his nights in the city, bitter and beyond help, laughing humourlessly at the saying _time heals all wounds_. He wants to scoff like he used to, ask “ _How much time_?” because he knows Niall would listen. “ _Is two and a half years enough_?” He could question it, maybe even receive an honest answer. “ _All wounds are different, you know_.” He could continue, and he’d earn a quizzical look in response, maybe with concern, too. “S _ome cut deeper than others, some heal by themselves, some need stitches_.” He’d laugh, then, like he always used to, and Niall might even start comforting him. “ _Some bleed out, don’t they_?” He’d ask, not expecting an answer, “ _Some never heal at all_.”

He’s still wounded, and time can fuck itself. 

But instead of going down that road, Zayn just takes Niall’s comforting and optimistic words and lets it settle in the air between him. Wind blows and it covers up their quiet. 

Then, Zayn talks, “Does everyone hate me?”He asks, voice coming out softer than intended. He clears his throat, “Back home, I mean.” He watches as Niall searches Zayn’s face for something. Zayn breathes in, “Do you hate me?”

“Jesus Christ, Zayn.” Niall’s already shaking his head. “No, nobody hates you.”

Zayn already knows it’s a lie. He knows Louis’ mum hates him, knows his family probably can’t even bare to say his name. 

“Besides the police, obviously.” Niall says, snickering but it comes out weak. “They’re frustrated. It’s… It’s so crazy how you’ve managed to hide for so long.”

Zayn lets the silence stretch on. In Niall’s tone it tells Zayn that he’s been successful, in a way. He’s defeated them. It doesn’t feel like it, though. 

“How is everyone?”

He’d wanted to ask Louis, but he couldn’t, instead he only asked about his friends and watched how Louis lit up when talking about Liam and Harry. It caused a slight lump in Zayn’s throat, caused a yearning for something that hadn’t been strong within him for months. 

“They’re good.” Niall replies simply. Zayn nods. He hears Niall swallow audibly, as though he were preparing himself for something. Then, “The lads are arriving tomorrow.”

And Zayn chokes on his own spit. He looks at Niall and he’s wincing, waiting for Zayn’s response. But all Zayn can do is look at him, “Sorry?”

Niall sighs, “Well, I had to see for myself that it was actually you, didn’t I?” He explains, running a hand through his hair. “And once I saw that it was, I texted them straight away and they wanna see you, too.” He lets the words resinate in Zayn’s ears. Zayn shuts his eyes. “I wasn’t just gonna leave you, knowing it was really _you_. I mean, did y’actually think I was nappin’?”

Zayn opens his eyes, zeros in on Niall. “You weren’t?”

And Niall’s laughing but Zayn’s ears are filled with the sound of his own heartbeat. They’re coming here, tomorrow. The two of them will see how Zayn’s living, how Zayn and Louis are co-existing with each other, how Zayn’s coping ever since he got up and left. They’ll be here, at Zayn’s doorstep, at Hillside. 

“Hey, Zayn, s’alright, yeah?” Niall’s coming up to him now, a hand resting on Zayn’s shoulder. “They’re fuckin’ _psyched_ to see you.”

“It’s too much, Niall.” He feels like he’s repeating himself from earlier today but he’s shaking his head, unable to control it. “I’m not… I — even just seeing you was a lot.”

“Yeah, shit.” Niall places his beer down next to the ashtray and places both hands on Zayn’s shoulders, making sure they lock eyes. “I’m sorry I shocked y’enough that you sorta turned into a zombie. Comin’ here unannounced and shit, I couldn’t even imagine how it’d be like for you. But, you’re okay, yeah?”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.” Zayn admits, the tears from before threatening to spill again. “This… pretending I don’t know you thing. I don’t know if I can do it with them, too.”

“Then don’t.” Niall says simply with a shrug. “If you want to tell Louis, then we’ll be here to help you. Whatever you wanna do, we’re there for you.”

Zayn looks at Niall, the porch lights shining on the blue’s of his eyes, looking into Zayn’s with nothing but trust and honesty. Zayn feels the overwhelming sense of comfort that Niall’s giving him, a security blanket that Zayn’s grown unfamiliar to. He presses his lips together, hard, and then slowly goes in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Niall’s waist. 

Niall pulls him in, tightening his hold and burying his head into Zayn’s neck. Zayn blinks and lets a tear roll out onto his cheek, and for the first time in a long time, it’s not the result of sadness. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of the longest chapters. it's just under 9k words. all the previous ones have been around 5k. so brace yourselves! :-) love u

_Zayn_

Coffee tastes better when your back hurts and your head’s pounding. At least this is what Zayn tells himself as he sips it in his shed, the frost of the morning seeping in, the grass still dewy from the rain he heard as he drifted in and out of sleep. 

He’s not sure what time it is but as soon as dawn had arrived he was up; unable to sleep with the thought of Louis and Niall is his own house, mere metres away. The floorboards he rested on weren’t the comfiest, either. Although surprisingly, his floor acts as a more substantial bed than some of the couches he’s slept on in the past.

Tapping his pen loosely against the desk, he stares at the words he’s written and they stare back, his inspiration cutting short. 

_Caught between a dream and a movie scene_

He takes another sip of coffee. Then he hears the creaking of the shed before the words. 

“You’re up early.”

Zayn turns in his chair and he stills. Louis leans against the doorway, arms over his chest, swimming in a white hooded jumper and loose tracksuit pants. His hair’s slightly scruffy and his eyes are still half-closed, not exactly woken up yet. What shows of the sun shines into the shed and casts Louis in a silhouette. Zayn schools his expression into indifference. 

“So are you.”

“Did you sleep on the floor last night?” Louis asks, brows etched in concern.

Zayn looks away, “No, I — uh, I kipped with Randy.”

“Oh.” Louis nods and the word falls into silence. “Thanks for letting us stay the night. I know it wasn’t the, er, _original_ plan.”

Zayn shakes his head, keeps his gaze on his pen before looking up to meet his eyes, “No need to thank me.”

“Well, anyway.” Louis shrugs one shoulder and then moves off the doorway, stepping further into the shed, “To be fair, I was kinda hoping I’d wake up next to you,” Zayn stills again. He watches Louis closely but he’s no longer looking at him. “Seeing Niall with his mouth open and drooling isn’t the prettiest sight.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh. He leans back into his chair just do do something. 

“So, y’know, might be a good idea to change the pillow covers,” Louis adds, suddenly interested in Zayn’s music stand, “Just a heads up.”

Zayn swallows down another laugh. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Something in the atmosphere between them has shifted since yesterday and Zayn’s struggling to understand just how to act in front of Louis now. He finds himself wanting to guard his emotions, set them back into stone like he used to, but he has no reason to do that now, does he?

Niall had given him the go ahead last night. He’d practically given Zayn his blessing then and there to tell Louis the truth, to come out of hiding, to revert back to their old ways. He imagines how it’d be if he told him right now, while Louis’ still waking up and hungover, he wonders how it would play out, only just for a second. 

“Did you have fun? Last night?” Louis asks, fingers trailing lightly on the wall. Zayn studies him. He’s unsure, standing there not knowing where to place his hands and what to say. Makes two of them.

“It was nice,” Zayn replies, “Yeah.”

Louis smiles at that but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks down at his feet, fiddles with his elbow through the fabric. “So,” He says, bringing one hand to scratch the back of his head. He takes another step forward, “Last day.”

And Zayn looks passed Louis out into the backyard, focuses on a particular patch of grass. “Doesn’t have to be.”

His voice comes out so quiet that he’s almost certain Louis doesn’t catch it. But they’re so close and the shed is so small that of course he does. He chances a look at him and is surprised at the sympathy that covers Louis’ face. 

There’s sadness there, too, peering at Zayn with a slight turn to his head, a softness in his gaze and a smile that Zayn’s seen directed at him too many times on too many people. He’d seen it on many, but he never thought he’d see it on Louis. 

“Like, you don’t have to place deadlines on yourself.” Zayn tells him, backtracking and unable to stop the frown from forming. “No rules, is there? You can do what you want.”

He decides to turn around at that, unable to face Louis’ expression. He busies his hands by shifting through pages, not entirely sure what he’s looking at as he does so.

“S’bit early for talks about free-spiritedness, innit?” Louis asks, his voice amused. There’s still a delicateness to it that gets to Zayn. Louis’ being careful with him. “But, y’know, I really do appreciate the offer.”

“S’fine.”

“But, as I’m sure you know, like, with the help from Niall, once the battery’s started I can’t—“

“Yeah,” Zayn says, cutting Louis off. But he turns to him and gives him a smile, despite the sombre and empathetic expression staring back at him. “No, I get it.”

“Though, after today I could come back? It doesn’t _have_ to be my last day, like you said.” Louis shifts, uncertainty visible in his movements, “And I’m sure Niall will be pestering me for us to, like, see you again.”

Zayn nods a few times, judging whether or not he should just fucking spit it out. He should rip off the band-aid, jump into the cold water, throw this earth-sized weight off his shoulders and look Louis in the eye. “ _You should’ve remembered me_.” He feels like saying. “ _I’m the reason you couldn’t_.”

He opens his mouth, but the sound that follows isn’t words at all. Rather, the sound of a car pulling up outside his house. 

Louis frowns at the noise and turns his head, “Niall, do y’think?” 

Zayn immediately thinks back to the conversation on the balcony and realises with a start that he knows exactly who it is. He’s silent and Louis doesn’t move even as they hear two car doors shutting and, eventually, a hesitant knock on the door. 

Louis’ mouth falls open, “So you _can_ hear that from here!”

But Zayn can only hear the blood rushing to his ears. He stands up steadily and walks passed Louis towards the house, coffee forgotten. He feels Louis close behind him and a strange wave of comfort dims the tightness in his chest. He opens the back door and finds Niall already awake. And standing with Harry and Liam. 

The scandalised gasp that comes from Louis directs their attention to them, “What the fuck?” He says, staying behind Zayn, “Since when were you two coming?”

Harry’s grinning at him. His eyes had widened comically as soon as they spotted Zayn but they’ve calmed, his teeth on full display. He’s grown, his tall figure that was once lanky and all-limbs has filled out and his chest has grown, his arms not so thin. He’s wearing his hair in a headscarf and he’s got on a sheer shirt and heeled-boots, something Zayn wouldn’t have even pictured him in ever before. 

Liam, however, looks more reserved. He’s proceeding with caution, levelling his gaze with Zayn but giving him a small smile in hopes that Zayn doesn’t have a heart attack and die, probably. There’s tension in his shoulders, grown much like Harry’s, and there’s a beard that decorates his cheeks much like Zayn’s. 

“Surprise!” Niall says weakly into the thick air, arms thrown up. There’s something forced in his smile, something that tells Zayn he could be regretting this plan. That reaction might be due to the fact that he knows his own face is revealing something like shock horror. 

“We…” Liam begins, gesturing between himself and Harry, all the while looking at Zayn. He tears his eyes away to spot Louis before he continues, “Both had a free day, so we decided to join you lot and see what the fuss was about.”

“Right.” Louis says on an exhale. “Well, some _notice_ would be nice, lads.” His hand comes up to rest on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn doesn’t miss the way Liam looks at the movement and twists his mouth. Harry looks at it and his eyebrows rise, a slight smirk to his lips. “You can’t just barge into people’s houses you don’t know, for god’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Niall stutters out. He steps forward, closer to Zayn, “I let them in. My fault.”

And seeing it play out, the four of them in his house, it feels like a movie. It’s like a dream that’s all too real, one that he’s had many times before. A reunion of sorts that makes him feel like he's floating, and watching it all happen whilst not in his own body. It’s surreal, in other words. 

Louis’ hand slides from his shoulder to just beneath his neck and Zayn has an overwhelming urge to shrug him off. He looks from Harry to Liam, seeing their gazes locked on them, watching how close Louis and Zayn are. He doesn’t know what they’re thinking, though he can guess it’s not all positive. But he can’t shrug him off, is the thing. He allows him to stay there, his presence and touch acting as a rock that’s holding him down, keeping him from disappearing. 

“Let’s get the introductions out of the way, then, shall we? Since you’ve both just graced us with your sudden presence.” Louis urges him forwards gently and Zayn turns his head to look at him. Louis’ already meeting his gaze and he gives him a reassuring smile as he rubs his thumb back and forth on Zayn’s back. Zayn wonders how he looks to him. 

They step forwards together and Harry instantly takes one too, closing the distance. He outstretches his hand, his face looking entirely elated and amused at the fact that he gets to pretend to introduce himself to Zayn again. “I’m Harry, and you must be Zayn. Pleasure to meet you.”

His voice still represents the slow, polite drawl Zayn’s used to. He shakes his hand, lets out a meek, “You too.”

Then Harry steps back and Liam steps forward with less enthusiasm. His brows are almost etched together in worry and Zayn can see how hard he’s trying to disguise it. They lock eyes and for some reason he can see a hint of fear. Zayn bites the side of his tongue but Louis’ still subtly coaxing him through the fabric of his shirt and he wills himself to relax. 

“Liam.” He introduces himself, holding out his hand. Zayn shakes it. “Sorry for showing up unannounced.”

“You didn’t.” Zayn manages, then flicks his gaze to Niall. “Niall let me know last night.”

“He what?” Louis says, insulted. “Niall, is this true?”

“Uh,” Niall fiddles with his hands slightly. “Yeah? Told them to come down last night when I was drunk.”

He laughs though the lie but it’s uneasy and now even Harry’s got a confused frown on his face. Zayn stares at the floor. 

“The secrecy in this place is astounding.” Louis says but there’s a lightness to his tone. The statement falls flat, the truth of it way too real.

Niall laughs uneasily again in response before promptly moving closer to Harry and Liam to ask about how the drive was. They start talking and Zayn lifts his head up to view them. He catches Liam averting his gaze as he quickly shifts to Niall instead. 

“Hey,” Louis’ voice is now a low whisper, and his other hand comes up to rest lightly on Zayn’s arm. His fingertips brush against his skin and Zayn allows himself to relax. “Is this okay?”

And Zayn’s not sure whether he’s referring to the newcomers or the new contact but Zayn nods anyway, replying to both. 

He thinks it’s the latter, though, as Louis thinks of it as a go-ahead and he rests his palm on Zayn’s forearm, just above his wrist. “I know this is extremely overwhelming for you and I know you probably didn’t want to say no to Niall when he invited them over but, listen,” His tongue darts over his lips quickly and Zayn looks at him, “Please, honestly, tell me if you don’t want them here. I can let them know— hell, tell me if you don’t want _us_ here—“

“Lou, it’s okay.”

The nickname is completely accidental but Zayn doesn’t have time to cover it up. Zayn inspects Louis’ reaction and his face merely relaxes, the beginnings of a smile showing. “Are you…” He flits his attention to the three boys chatting and then back to Zayn, seriousness in his gaze, “Are you sure?”

_No_. He thinks. He’s not sure of anything at the moment. In the span of two days he’s seen three people that were close to him once upon a time. In the span of two days he’s had to play the role of not an old-time friend but a stranger, and now he’ll have to do it tenfold. But they’re together again, the five of them, and despite the absurdity of playing pretend, there’s a sense of comforting normalcy that Zayn hadn’t known he’d been craving until now.

“Yeah.” Zayn replies. 

_

 

Louis had ended up taking control and offered to show the boys around so Zayn could have time to himself at home. As soon as the front door had closed and there was nothing but silence in their wake, Zayn slouched against the counter.

He eyes the ceiling, wondering how he had stood in this spot two weeks ago with nothing but himself and these walls — and now he’s here, having been transported back to a time when he’d felt whole. 

He takes a shower, he makes his bed, collects some beers at the bar (and miraculously doesn’t bump into anyone), he eats something; some toast with butter, and he finds himself sitting in the chair and filling the silence with a television show he’s not really watching, waiting for the boys to return.

They all looked so much older than when Zayn had left. He wonders whether they think the same about him, wonder how much he’s changed to them. He wonders whether it was as big of a moment, reuniting, as it was for him. 

Just like last night as he had hugged Niall and shed a tear, he realises just how much he’s _missed_ Harry and Liam, too. But the fear that’s eating him up stems from the worry that they don’t miss him. There’s also frustration, anger, settling in somewhere, nagging at him. None of them called. Not once. 

Louis, he understands. How can he call someone he doesn’t know? But the others, they could have reassured him, told him it’s okay to contact, that they won’t rat him out. Yet every time he would ask his family, ask if they’ve reached out, ask how they were doing, he’d get the same response: “ _We don’t know, Zayn. We never see them anymore_.”

The front door swings open and Niall’s laugh rings through the house. The boys all bustle in and Zayn watches from his chair. Louis’ the last to enter, shutting the door softly behind him. 

“Whatcha watchin’?” Niall asks, standing next to Zayn and placing a hand on the back of the chair. 

Zayn focuses on the screen for a moment, _I Love Lucy_ re-runs. Zayn shrugs. 

“Mate, you should’ve seen Caroline as soon as she met Harry.” Niall laughs again, pointing to Harry who’s on the other side of Zayn, near the kitchen. “ _Infatuated_.”

Louis snorts, “Someone’s swallowed a dictionary.”

Zayn allows himself a smile and turns to Harry who’s dimple is on full display. They meet eyes but Zayn’s the first to look away. 

“There’s beers in the fridge. Help yourselves if you want one.”

He catches Harry and Liam as they share an unsure glance. Niall claps Zayn on the shoulder and Louis opens the fridge. Harry fiddles with his bottom lip as he thinks, and then Liam’s turning to Zayn, brows pulled together.

“We won’t be able to drink if we’re—“

“We could probably stay longer,” Harry cuts in, making Liam look at him. Harry slides his eyes over to Zayn, shrugging once, “If, y’know, if that’s alright?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “I mean, I thought you were all gonna stay the night?”

Behind Harry, Louis stills his movements, bottle halfway to his lips. “Huh?”

Zayn noticed the mattresses, blankets and pillows in the back of Liam or Harry’s car when he left the house, so he only had assumed as much.

“Well,” Liam gestures lamely with his hand between Harry and Zayn, “We didn’t, uh — we weren’t sure if that was a possibility?” 

“Why not?” Zayn shoots back.

Liam blinks at the direct question, then immediately turns to Louis, eyes almost pleading. Louis’ hiding a smirk behind the neck of the bottle. He really does love watching Liam get flustered. 

“It’d be wrong of us to assume…” Liam trails off. 

“We genuinely were only gonna pop in and see if you — uh, I mean,” Harry blinks furiously, then recovers, and Zayn watches as Niall turns around, facing away from all of them. “See what it was like? The town, I mean, ‘cause like, Louis’d been… And then Niall—“

Louis’ audible, impatient sigh breaks off Harry’s stumbling words and he swallows the rest of his sentence in shame. Zayn feels for him, knows how hard it is to be undercover, in a sense. He hasn’t had the practice Zayn’s had.

“Zayn’s saying you’re more than welcome to stay, darlings, so do as you wish.” Louis clarifies. “In the meantime,” He crosses over the floor and swings an arm around Niall, “Everyone should grab a beer and head outside, all of us in here at the same time is getting a bit overwhelming for our dear friend.”

Without searching for a reply, he takes Niall with him as he opens the door and moves outside. Zayn gets up and takes three beers out before placing them on the counter. Liam and Harry don’t take them right away, but Zayn doesn’t wait for them before he’s joining Niall and Louis who are sitting on the steps. 

“Y’alright?” Zayn asks, cracking open his beer. 

Niall nods, “Lou’s just bein’ overdramatic.”

Louis retracts his arm from around Niall’s shoulders and stares at him, open-mouthed. Niall looks back, dead-pan, and shrugs one shoulder. 

“ _Overdramatic_?” Louis repeats, accent thick. “How would it be if I were to say you were just being overdramatic at that crowded shopping centre one time, when you were screaming because—“

“Oh, shh,” Niall tells him, grinning and bumping into him playfully, “I’m teasin’, Tommo.”

Louis rolls his eyes and then looks at Zayn, “See what I have to deal with, Zayn? Do you?”

That’s when the back door opens again and Liam emerges from the house, Harry close behind, both with bottles in their hands. Louis shifts over a bit, squishing Niall to Zayn to make room for the other two to slink passed until they hit the grass. 

Zayn has Niall’s entire weight on his side, his other side pressing into the wooden posts of the balcony, Louis leaning over into them, too. 

Niall lets out a sound, “Would y’mind lettin’ up a bit? Maybe?” 

Louis takes a sip. Zayn focuses his attention on Liam and Harry, neither of them willing to lock gazes, watching Louis and Niall instead. 

“Nah,” Louis replies, “‘M comfy, actually.”

“Yeah, well I can tell you now that Zayn’s not.”

At the mention of his name, Harry and Liam’s eyes flit to him. Zayn catches Liam’s gaze, but not for long until he breaks it and suddenly looks at his feet. Harry holds on, though, and Zayn watches as Harry’s stare slowly softens, his mouth tilting into a barely-there smile. 

Louis groans, “Ugh, fine. Have it your way.” He moves over to where he was originally and the weight on Zayn’s side leaves him. He remains leaning on the post, anyway. 

Then it’s silent, and Zayn has to grasp the fact that it was almost never silent between the five of them, back then. There would always be something going on, something to laugh about, something or someone to talk about, never a boring moment. But it’s not back then, this is now, and the awkward, underlying tension radiates between them all and Zayn wonders whether Louis has picked up on it, if he thinks it’s as odd as Zayn feels. 

Harry clears his throat into his fist and Zayn darts his eyes to him. They lock, and then Harry’s gesturing towards the house behind Zayn. 

“Cozy.” He comments.

Zayn finds his voice. “Thanks.”

“Real small town.” Liam supplies as Harry takes a sip of beer.

“Yeah.”

Harry’s nose scrunches up. “Shit-tasting beer.”

“Harry!” Louis scolds suddenly. All eyes turn to him but Zayn remains watching Harry, the shock on his face almost laughable. “You can’t say that.”

Louis looks alarmed, like a mother to her child when she hears them say a rude word in public. Niall’s smiling, openly amused, and Zayn contorts his mouth so he doesn’t mimic the movement.

“What?” Harry asks with his brows pulled together, at a loss. “You said it yourself it was the worst you’ve ever tasted.”

Louis blinks back, caught, and Zayn struggles to hide his smile. He knows Louis’ apparent dislike of the alcohol here, he’s heard it many times. But there’s something telling about the fact that he thinks only _he_ can say as much. 

“That’s not—“ Louis begins, then huffs, “That wasn’t…” He rolls his eyes and stands up before tugging at Harry’s sleeve roughly, Harry smiling even though he knows he’s probably not supposed to. “Come with me, you fat oaf.”

And it’s when Louis’ dragging him up the stairs that Harry looks directly at Zayn, and winks. Zayn sort of wants to die. 

As soon as the back door closes behind them, though, Niall’s scooting closer and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s side, his head on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn tries to not look at Liam, afraid of what he might see. But he fails, and Liam gives him an unexpected smile. 

He taps his shoe against Zayn’s lightly, “Missed you, man.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek. The words settle through him, a misplaced warmth. “Missed you, too.”

Liam nods, relieved at Zayn’s answer. Raindrops still drip from the long stems of grass and Zayn watches two fall before conversation picks up again, startling. 

“How’ve you been?”

The question hits him somewhere. His gut, probably. Hits him where it hurts and it elicits a frown, his body reacting to the audacity of the query, wondering if Liam’s merely asking to fill the silence or if he’s truly curious. 

The desperate look in Liam’s eyes tells Zayn it’s curiosity but that makes it worse, somehow. How on earth does he _think_ he’s been?

But Niall’s still wrapped firmly around him and the comfort softens his hard edges. “Great.”

Liam swallows harshly, nodding again. He looks at his shoes, then the house, the trees around him and then lastly at Zayn, his brows in a constant state of worry.

“We’ve all been wondering about you.” He says, voice slow, soft. Zayn feels his nostrils flare slightly, controlling his breaths. “You know, since you left.”

“Yeah,” Zayn levels his gaze, “It showed.”

Liam stills. Niall’s hug releases and he looks at Zayn, probably wondering whether Zayn’s bitterness refers to him, too. 

“You are not.”

Louis’ voice travels out into the backyard, directed to Harry. 

“But I am, Lou. I played with Jason the other day, he said I was good!”

Louis snorts as Harry goes down the stairs. Zayn’s focus still remains on Liam, his face dropped into something unreadable. 

Louis sits down next to Niall, who’s now completely unwrapped himself from Zayn. For the sake of Louis, or the conversation just had, Zayn doesn’t know. 

“That’s because Jason wants to get in your pants, Harold.”

Harry gasps, “Not true!”

“’Tis, actually.” 

“You just can’t accept the fact that I might be better than you.” Harry says, arms folded over his chest.

Louis barks out a laugh, “Lads, Harry here thinks he could be a better goalie than me. Are we laughing?”

Niall manages to let out a cackle and a comment to make Harry pout, the tension circulating them forgotten. Liam tries to ease up, too, but the tense line of his shoulders doesn’t fade. If Louis notices, he doesn’t say anything.

_

 

Dusk arrives and they’re edging on the verge of tipsy as they walk up to the bar, the sunset showing through the clouds.

Harry, Niall and Louis had been caught up in conversation as they left the house and Zayn was surprised to find Liam waiting for him as he shut the front door. Neither of them said anything, just walked slowly in synchronisation, until now.

“Zayn,” Liam sounds cautious, unsure of how to phrase his next words. He waits until Zayn’s attention is on him before he continues. “You know why we couldn’t contact you.”

Zayn doesn’t hide his frown or the way his head jerks back in surprise, “Do I?”

Liam sighs, frustrated with himself as he struggles to find his next words. Zayn looks in front of him where Harry’s head is thrown back with laughter, Louis’ following close after. 

“Zayn,” Liam repeats, seriousness a contrast to the sight in front of them, “You changed your number. Your family wanted to keep your privacy to make sure you were safe. We couldn’t _reach_ you—“

But Zayn’s shaking his head, jaw set, “If you wanted to, you could have. That’s a shit excuse.”

Liam scratches at his brow, lets his hand fall by his side lamely. “Maybe. But it was all so fragile back then. And…” He sniffs, looks at the ground as the three boys enter the bar.“And none of us wanted to put you in danger. Even… Even now, with us being here, it’s —“ He swallows, rolls his lips together before he pauses at the door. He looks at Zayn’s feet, then locks his gaze to the side of his face. “Be careful, Zayn.”

Zayn’s eyes dart to him.

_Be careful, Zayn._

Then Liam tosses him a smile and disappears into the bar. 

 

_Louis_

“Haven’t you?”

Zayn hides his smirk behind his glass, drinking down the liquid that’s inside. He’s smirking and his eyes are glistening in a way that makes Louis forget what Zayn’s even responding to. He’s so transfixed on the the way Zayn’s eyelids are drooping seductively at him, the way he’s looking at him like he knows something Louis doesn’t. 

They’re the only ones at the table, now, both sitting in the booth next to each other in the middle and watching as the other three navigate around the pool table like idiots. But Louis stopped watching them awhile ago, opting to tell Zayn that he’s never seen him drunk before. 

_Oh_ , right. That’s what the conversation was. 

“Nope,” Louis responds, shaking his head. The reply’s late, and Zayn’s grown more and more amused as time has gone on. Louis feels like the walls around Zayn are breaking and it’s the best feeling in the world. 

“I’ve seen you drunk.” Zayn comments, smirk ever-present. Louis wants to kiss it off him. “Many times.”

Louis tries to scoff but it comes out more a laugh, “Would _hardly_ classify twice as ‘many times’, don’t be greedy.”

Zayn’s brows rise, “Greedy?”

“Yes, greedy.” Louis clarifies. He’s not sure if any of it makes sense. He doesn’t care. “Anyway, I have a feeling you and me would be a drunken match made in heaven.”

Louis might already be drunk. He also might be imagining Zayn flicking his gaze down to Louis’ mouth before he replies, “Really?”

“Oh, we’d be _awful_ , Zayn. But in the good way.”

“There’s a good way to be awful?”

Louis immediately contorts his face to disgust, shifting away from him. Zayn watches with a suppressed smile. “There’s _always_ a good way to be awful!”

Zayn’s smile finally shines through and with the way the shitty orange-tinged lights coat him it makes the pinks of his cheeks stand out, “How?”

Louis shifts closer, closer than before, and lets their arms touch as they’re both placed on the table in front of them. “We’d paint the town, Zayner.” He grins, and Zayn glows. “We’d get up to all sorts, wouldn’t we? You’d be the mysterious yet cunning master and I’d be the rambunctious villain and together we would be the most unstoppable duo in the world.”

Their eyes are locked and Louis sees nothing but joy in Zayn’s. It should be shocking, it should stun Louis, make him freeze on the spot and have his heart skip a beat. But all it does is make his blood rush like the steady sound of waves, a certain comfort to it, somehow knowing that this is what his eyes are supposed to look like. 

“We’d be partners in crime.” Zayn says, teeth showing as he smiles. 

Louis bumps their shoulders together lightly, “Exactly.”

Then someone clears their throat and ruins the mood completely. 

Louis wonders if decapitating one of your best mate’s heads in public with a plastic straw would be frowned upon here. Probably. It still doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he looks at Niall who’s standing at the other end of the table. 

“Yes?” He asks him, trying to convey the boredom in his expression. 

But Niall’s not looking at Louis. “Need another, mate?”

Louis looks at Zayn, and his smile’s gone. 

Decapitation? Yeah, tempting. 

“Erm, yeah.” Zayn mumbles, looking at the beer that’s in his hand. It’s not empty. He averts his gaze from Niall, almost hanging his head, and only meets Louis’ eyes for a second, his expression apologetic. “Back in a second.”

He shuffles out of the booth and Louis doesn’t know if he should protest or not. He instead glares at the straw in his glass, wondering how much force it would take for it to break in half. You know, for science.

“Aw, Louis.” Harry’s voice breaks him from his musings and the booth shifts under him as Harry slides in, “Don’t look so angry.”

So Louis crosses his arms over his chest and deepens his frown, “And why not?”

“He’ll be back.”

Louis watches as Zayn and Niall sit at the bar, Niall telling him something as they wait for their drinks, and Zayn nodding every so often. What was _so_ important that Niall had to drag him away?

“Dunno, mate.” Harry replies. Louis doesn’t remember his own mouth moving, but it seems even his own body’s disobeying him at this point. “But I like him. Zayn, I mean.” He smiles at Louis and Louis’ not sure what he’s supposed to reply to that. “I didn’t realise he was such a good singer.”

“Pretty sure I told you he was, Harold.”

“Yes!” Liam calls from the pool table, grinning. All the balls have been sunk and Harry deflates into the cushion. “I won.”

“Congratulations, Payno, when’s the tournament?”

Liam strolls over and gestures to Louis whilst looking at Harry, “Whose tied his knickers?”

Louis huffs out a dry laugh at the phrase and then downs the rest of his drink, straw neglected. 

“Niall pulled Zayn away and now he’s sad his boyfriend’s gone.” Harry tells Liam. 

Louis chokes, placing his glass back down on the table. “ _Boyfriend_? Excuse me?”

Harry gives him a winning smile, proud of himself for some god-awful reason. With the stupid grin in tact, he ignores Louis’ words and turns to Liam instead. “Did I say boyfriend, Liam?”

Liam leans on the cue-stick and there’s a gleam in his eye. “No, Harry, I don’t think you did.”

“I’m quite sure I only said friend.”

“I’m quite sure of that, too.”

“Then you’re both as deaf as a bloody bat.” Louis snaps.

“Actually, bats have pretty good hearing,” Harry dares to say. Louis feels his left eye twitch. “I think ‘blind’ was the word y—“

“Nobody invited you here!” Louis says as he stands. 

He hears Liam and Harry collapse in laughter as Louis slides out of the booth and he wonders why on earth he ever missed them when Louis was here, by himself, with nothing but sweet serenity. And Zayn. 

He sits on the stool next to him and Niall notices him before Zayn does. They’ve already gotten their beers, only now sitting there, talking.

“Zayn, my friends are mean.”

Zayn’s mouth tilts up a little at the sound of Louis’ voice and he shifts so he’s facing him. “Why are they mean?”

“They’re laughing at my expense.” Louis tells him, pouting. Zayn looks amused as he glances passed Louis’ shoulder to spot Harry and Liam. Niall’s looking, too, and laughing a little with his brows pulled together in a confused frown. “ _Mean_.”

“Did you wanna go back home?” Zayn asks, eyes gentle. 

“And leave the rest of them here? Yes, definitely.”

Zayn laughs. He laughs and his nose scrunches up a little. “No, I meant with everyone.”

_Oh_. “Oh.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Niall says, jumping off his stool and rounding Louis to clap him on the shoulder. With his other hand, he gets the attention of Harry and Liam, “We’ll continue the party.”

Five drunk boys, all in Zayn’s tiny house. He touches Zayn’s forearm as he sees him about to leave his stool without thinking and Zayn stops. He doesn’t retract his arm or tense up, though, just looks at Louis in question. 

“Is that okay?” Louis asks him, “That we’re all coming back? Are you fine with that?”

Zayn nods, his smile growing, “Yeah. I’m fine with that.”

_

“Never Have I Ever?”

Niall groans at Harry’s suggestion as Liam cringes, “Why do you _always_ pick that?”

“I don’t!”

“You do.” Niall says, sitting down on one of the mattresses splayed out on the floor, “You really do.”

When everyone had been outside earlier today, Louis had grabbed Harry by the t-shirt and pulled him inside. They took the mattresses Harry and Liam had brought and placed them inside, taking up the entire front room. There’s blankets and pillows everywhere and it acts as the floor as the five of them walk over it to the fridge and back, collecting beers as they go. 

“What other drinking games are there, then?” Harry says, sitting down next to Niall. “We don’t even have any cards!”

“Alright, Hazza, alright,” Louis says, walking over from where he and Zayn had stood near the front door, watching the conversation play out. Louis sits next to Harry and feeds his fingers through his hair, the warmth of it acting like a glove in this non-heated room, “How about we play one round of your game, and then afterwards we play something like Truth or Dare, yes?”

Harry nods, leaning back into Louis’ hand. “Okay.”

Liam sits next to Louis, and then Zayn steps into the empty space and sits in between Liam and Niall, the five of them forming a circle. From here, Louis and Zayn are opposite each other. He thinks about Zayn’s friends before everything, thinks about the friend Zayn had spoken about — “ _I did something stupid and it almost cost him his life_ ” — and wonders whether he misses having a close circle like Louis has, wonders if they ever played stupid drinking games like this. As he looks at him, he spots something in Zayn’s expression as his gaze travels from Niall, to Harry and then to Liam. There’s a barely-there smile but it softens his eyes and he just looks so _content_. It’s a difference to how the alcohol’s buzzing through his veins.

“Right, everyone got a full drink?” Niall asks, eyebrows raised and peering over to see everyone’s beer bottles. A round of ‘yeah’s’ get thrown before Niall pats Harry’s knee, “Alright, then, you start us off since you were so keen on it.”

“Hmm,” Harry twists his mouth as he looks up to the ceiling and thinks. As soon as something comes to him, his eyes brighten, “Never have I ever masturbated in public.”

Without hesitating, Niall curses under his breath and takes a drink, putting one finger down on his hand as Liam laughs.

“Hang on, hang on.” Louis says, touching Harry’s arm to get his attention, “How public are we talking? Like, ‘in the middle of the street’ public? Or, like, ‘in a pubic toilet’ public?”

“Just out of the comfort of your own home, Louis.” Liam replies. 

“What, so, someone else’s home is considered public?” Louis questions, quirking a brow at Liam. 

“Not really? No?” Liam says, frowning as he looks at Harry for answers, “I don’t know?”

Harry’s frown is deep-set in confusion. “I don’t know either.” He brings a hand up so his knuckles rest on Niall’s chest, “Hey, Niall, where did you do it?”

“No way.” Niall tells him, dead-pan. “Movin’ on. Never have I ever fucked a dude.”

“Oi! Oi!” Louis chants as he and Harry clink their bottles together and drink. But Louis almost chokes when he sees Zayn drinking, too. He has questions, so many questions. Was it with a boyfriend? Was it a one time thing? Is he gay? Was it only experimental? How long ago was it? But he can’t ask anything, because it’s Zayn’s turn, and he’s already speaking. 

“Never have I ever dyed my hair.” 

“Fuck you.” Niall mutters, drinking and putting his second finger down. 

Harry chuckles, “Why’re you saying that? Isn’t like Zayn knew you used to be blonde.”

“Never have I ever,” Liam says, slightly loud and emphasising it, shifting all attention to him, “Had a boyfriend.”

Harry’s smile drops and he rolls his eyes before drinking, his score the same as Niall’s. Also, Zayn doesn’t make a move to drink. So no boyfriend, then. 

“Never have I ever had a girlfriend.” Louis says, pointedly at Liam and smiling when Liam groans, also paired with Niall’s and Harry’s. Louis smiles winningly, but then his eyes slide over to Zayn’s and he’s surprised to find Zayn already looking back at him intently. He’s peering at Louis, trying to figure something out. But instead of saying anything he just slowly brings his bottle up to his lips, drinking, too. A girlfriend, then. Huh. 

It keeps going like that. Harry says he’s never been dumped via text message and Liam loses. Niall says he’s never failed a class and both Zayn and Louis lose. Liam says he’s never been caught having sex and Harry loses. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says, looking at his hand, “I only have one finger left.”

“That’s what he said.” Louis chides. 

Zayn snorts quietly in laughter. 

Liam looks at his own hand with three fingers still standing and waves it, “I love being straight.”

Louis does a double take and scrunches up his face. He waves his own hand with the same amount of fingers in front of Liam obnoxiously, “I _love_ being gay!”

Harry cackles loudly and Louis sits back as Liam bats his hand away. He finds Zayn looking at him again, the same intense stare as before but it’s lightened by a smile. It’s way too puzzling to figure out what it means when his mind’s slow and his inhibitions are gone. 

So, he continues the game instead. “Never have I ever fucked a girl.”

He watches Harry, Liam and Niall finish the rest of their drinks and Louis sits back proudly. But then he realises Zayn’s not making a move to drink at all. So he’s had a girlfriend but they never had sex? Interesting.

“Well, I lost.” Harry says, peering into his now empty bottle, “Don’t think I like that game anymore.”

Louis laughs loudly, taking the bottle out of his hand. “Another round, everyone?”

_

They end up playing Truth or Dare.

The circle that was once tightly formed had broken a little in between the break which consisted of replenishing the alcohol and toilet runs. He can see it in the way Harry’s leaning predominately on Niall, how Liam’s becoming more or less annoying towards Louis and how Zayn’s eyes are drooping, his smile growing yet becoming lazier and lazier — that everyone is a little more than drunk. 

“Louis,” Liam sings, the word dragging on the vowels. He leans over, pointer finger raised. “Louis,” He repeats, vowels dragging out even longer, his finger now resting on Louis’ nose. “Lou—“

“Okay, yes, what?” Louis knocks his hand away, making Liam giggle, “What do you want?”

“You should start the game.” He replies.

Louis looks at the rest of the boys. He sees Zayn watching on quietly, whatever intensity he had before completely gone. Harry’s at Niall’s immediate side, looking passed him as his mouth rests close to his ear, droning on about something completely useless, if Niall’s vacant expression is anything to go by. Louis turns back to Liam, who’s smiling patiently. 

“Alright.” He says, shifting his position to sit up straighter. “ _Liam_ ,” He addresses, and Liam’s eyes widen in excitement, “I dare you to down your beer and then do a handstand outside.”

Niall squawks, slapping his own knee in laughter. Harry’s rattled by it, and his words stop mid-sentence before he’s looking at Niall, brows pulled together in offence. Zayn’s mouth pulls into a grin.

Liam chuckles to himself, then extends his beer out to everyone, “Cheers.”

“Good on ya, Payno.” Niall encourages. 

Then Liam’s gulping down his freshly opened beer and Louis watches on in amazement at how Liam doesn’t pause once, just keeps on going until the last drop is gone before pulling back with a burp and everyone cheers. 

“Yeah!” Louis praises, slapping him on the back. 

Liam gets up from where he’s seated, stumbling before he gets his balance and everyone follows, watching as Liam makes his way through the house, out on the patio, down the steps and onto the grass. As he’s waiting for everyone to join, he burps again and Louis finds it absolutely hilarious.

Once Niall and Harry have made it outside, with Niall guiding them both and Harry clinging onto him like his life depends on it, Liam counts the boys silently with his finger. When he gets to Zayn, his face turns impeccably soft, and he clasps his hands together. 

“Zayn.”

Louis chokes on a laugh, turning to Zayn to see if he’s finding this equally as weird. But Zayn’s just looking back, face slightly similar to Liam’s, and waves to him. 

“Hi, mate.” He says, then wiggles his brows up before pointing at him, “Y’gonna do a handstand?”

Liam grins, nods, and then prepares himself. Zayn looks at Louis and they meet eyes, Zayn giving him a cautious stare to what’s about to happen. Louis mimics it, and then they’re both looking back at Liam. He tilts himself over, hands flat on the grass, and then lifts himself up so his legs are in the air. 

Everyone claps, and Liam lasts about two seconds before he’s wobbling and then falling on his back with laughter. 

Once they’re back inside, it’s Liam’s turn to dare someone — “Should just be called Dare or Dare, shouldn’t it?” Zayn had asked Louis, the two of them sitting next to each other — and he wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and looks at him mischievously. 

“Harry, I dare you to strip to your underwear and run up and down the street.” 

Harry folds his bottom lip out and shrugs, completely unfazed by the idea. “Easy.” He stands up and pulls off his t-shirt and jeans in record time, leaving him in only his pants and socks. He looks down at Liam, “Do I have t’drink the rest o’ this as well?”

Liam passes up Harry’s beer, “If y’want.”

Harry does want, and he downs it like Liam had and when it’s finished, Harry’s charging towards the front door. The rest follow, and it’s not long until Harry’s outside Zayn’s house, performing half-hearted stretches in a comedic way. 

“Would anyone still be awake?” Louis whispers to Zayn. 

Zayn smirks at him, then nods before whispering, “Mary’s an absolute night-owl, and her bedroom faces the town. She’d see everything.”

Louis lets out a laugh just as Liam starts counting down loudly. As soon as he hits one, Harry’s off. Though, he doesn’t run like everyone thought he would. He starts skipping, letting his arms sway as he does so, his hair flowing in the wind. Niall grabs onto the balcony’s barrier and throws his head back with laughter, watching the spectacle. 

“Evening, fellow Hillsideians!” Harry greets, galloping down the road, not fazed at all by the rocky surface. The only light that hits him is the moon, but even that’s not enough to see when he passes a few houses, his body vanishing in the darkness. 

“Weirder, now, innit he?” Niall says to Zayn. 

Liam perches closest to Harry, bringing his hand up to block his eyes from the non-existent sun, as though that will help with viewing Harry. God, what is _in_ this beer?

With no response from Zayn, Louis looks at him. He’s frowning, an urgency flashing in his eyes before Niall’s face sort of drops, then he says, “Y’know, like, since he’s been ‘ere. And stuff.”

“Look!” Liam says, direction everyone’s attention back, “He’s returning!”

And Harry’s figure reappears, still skipping like he hasn’t got a care in the world, a pleasant smile on his face as he does so. He moves up the steps and Louis places an arm around his waist. 

“How was that? Alright?” Louis asks him. 

Harry laughs, “Yeah. Refreshing.” 

They return inside and Harry wraps himself up in a blanket, huddled to Louis’ side. Zayn’s next to him, then Niall, then Liam. Louis pokes Harry’s cheek as he tells him it’s his turn. 

“Okay. Louis,” Harry drawls, peering up at him with a lazy smirk, “I dare you to lick someone’s nipple.”

Louis stares back at him, blank. “You want me to lick someone’s nipple?”

Harry giggles, then nods. 

Louis merely sighs, then shifts Harry upwards, “C’mere, then.”

He attacks quickly, shifting the blanket from Harry’s chest and diving in, licking a stripe of the bud and then nipping it with his teeth for good measure. Harry flinches from it and lets out a sound before touching over it with his fingertips as Louis moves away. 

“Ouch, Lou. I said lick, not bite.”

“Eh,” Louis shrugs, moving his beer up to his lips, “Tomato, tomahto.”

“Why does it always turn to this?” Liam asks as he looks at Harry’s exposed nipple. 

“Always?” Zayn questions, voice barely a mumble but his eyes still look confused. 

And, _no_. “It doesn’t _always_ turn to this, you fucker.” Louis snaps, eyes to Liam, “And if you weren’t already off your nut, you’d be the victim of my next dare. Therefore, _Niall_ ,” He says, turning his attention to him. 

Niall grins filthily at him, “Yes, Louis?”

Louis thought it up ever since they had gone outside for Harry’s dare. Back to the day Anthony had given him a tour of Hillside, when he was about to walk to Zayn’s house, but Anthony stopped him because of the house next door. To this day, Louis still hadn’t seen its occupant. 

“I dare you,” He says, unable to keep from smiling, “To take off your sock,” Niall promptly pulls his sock off, then waits for Louis’ next cue, “And go to the house next door,” Niall nods, already moving to stand, “And give it to him.”

Niall blinks. “Wait. That’s all?”

Louis gives him a satisfied smirk, “That’s all.”

With a shrug, and slight disappointment, Niall says, “Okay.”

Louis locks eyes with Zayn as Niall starts walking and Zayn tries not to laugh, the back of his hand resting against his mouth as his eyes squint slightly. As Zayn and Louis stand, Harry and Liam remain on the mattress, Liam mumbling something inaudible and Harry’s eyes drooping as he sits. 

“Niall has no idea who’s about to greet him,” Zayn whispers, coming up closely to Louis’ side. 

Louis instantly feels giddy with it, the feeling he felt when they were sitting together at the bar coming back. He giggles without meaning to and bumps their shoulders as they walk. 

“ _I_ don’t even know who’s about to greet him,” Louis says as they leave the house, watching as Niall strolls confidently across Zayn’s front lawn, sock flopping from his hand, “But I hope it’s worth it.”

Zayn nods, and his hand rests on the small of Louis’ back, guiding him closer to Frank’s house, “Watch.”

Louis tries to focus but his senses are somewhat weak and his world’s a bit of a blur and Zayn’s _hand_ is on Louis’ _back_ — the warmth of it sending shockwaves through Louis’ system, finding himself in a moment of role reversal with his own body tensing up from the contact and Zayn completely unaware. 

Of course he’s unaware. He’s probably just as drunk as the lot of them. He doesn’t know what personal space is anymore, probably doesn’t even realise where both his hands are at any given time. 

But then Zayn’s hand slips off to brace himself against the barrier with his stomach and the warmth is replaced with sudden frost and the realisation that tomorrow he’ll be nursing a two-day hangover comes to his mind and suddenly the night’s turned to shit. Petulantly, Louis shuffles just a bit towards Zayn until their shoulders touch. Small victories, and all that. 

Niall rings the doorbell. He turns to Zayn and Louis and grins, waving the sock in the air. Louis pulls a face at him whilst Zayn waves back and Niall bends over with laughter. In the same moment that he’s straightening back up, the door swings open and Niall’s face just about drops to the floor. 

Louis’ eyes widen at the sight. 

There, in the doorway, is a man about six foot eight, large enough that he could roll Niall into a ball and throw him all the way back to Doncaster. He’s got hair around the side of his head, bald up top, and he is definitely, _definitely_ not happy. 

“Oh my god.” Louis says, monotone.

“Yep.” Zayn replies. 

“That bloke’s Frankenstein.” 

Zayn snorts, “Where’d you think the nickname came from?”

Niall looks as though he’s just about pissed himself there and then, and he swallows harshly, eyes wide. He plasters on a smile, and then thrusts the sock forward, the item lamely wilting over his fingers. 

Louis laughs abruptly, clapping a hand over his mouth as he does so, and then drops to a squatting position so Frank can’t see him behind the barrier. Zayn drops, too, eyes wide and smile just as. 

“Sh!” Zayn says, laugh spilling. He raises a finger up to his own mouth, but Louis keeps on laughing, the sound muffled from his palm. 

They hear a door slam and it’s like releasing a blown up balloon; Zayn and Louis lose their composure instantly and drop completely to the floor, letting the sound of their laughs echo and mingle together. 

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

Louis looks over to where Niall’s climbing the steps, and the appearance of Niall still holding one of his socks, with only one on his foot, makes him laugh even harder, his vision blurring. 

“Your—your face, bro.” Zayn gasps, one hand clutching at his stomach, his other pointing at Niall lazily. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m _so_ happy I could be y’entertainment for the night. Hm?” Niall says, sarcasm dripping like the tears in Louis’ eyes, “Well, it’s my turn. And I dare Zayn.”

“Mm?” Zayn asks, calming down, “What d’ya want me to do?”

“I dare the both of ya to sleep in y’damn bedroom, that’s what I want you t’do.” Niall says, waving his finger between them, “So I can get some fuckin’ sleep without hearing laughter all night.”

“Fuck,” Zayn grins, sitting so his knees are bent and his arms hang loosely over them, “I got an easy one, didn’t I?”

“Aww, Nialler,” Louis coos, standing up quickly to scoop up Niall in a cuddle, “Did the big, bad man frighten you?”

Zayn’s laugh sets off again and Niall shrugs Louis off, but Louis can see the amused tilt to his lips. “Fuck off, yeah? ‘M goin’ to bed.”

“Love you!” Louis calls to him as Niall steps inside. 

“Sweet dreams!” Zayn calls. Then, as the door closes, Louis looks at Zayn and it acts as a ripple effect, their laughs following soon after and painting the town. 


	13. Chapter 13

_Zayn_

“Like a helicopter,” Louis says, “Or like a… like a trained eagle.”

“A trained eagle?” Zayn questions, turning his head so he looks at him. The room’s dark, and Zayn might as well close his eyes, but Louis’ rambling like he always does when he’s drunk and Zayn doesn’t want to risk falling asleep and missing any of it. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies, and Zayn catches him blinking, his eyelashes visible from the shallow light through the blinds. “A trained eagle that knows exactly where to go. They're fast, aren’t they?”

Zayn finds himself smiling, even though Louis doesn’t see, “Yeah, they’re fast.”

“Faster than a car. And they don’t have to worry about traffic, either. Would cut the time from yours to mine in half.” 

Zayn rolls on his side and nestles further into his pillow, keeping one eye locked on Louis who’s lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling. They had spoken about how Louis would be going home tomorrow, but he’ll be back as soon as possible. He said the train ride was too boring, and that driving takes longer than necessary. 

“Eagle sounds like the best option, then.” Louis nods to himself. Zayn wants to reach out and brush his knuckles against the softness of Louis’ arm. They’re so close and Zayn could, he thinks. Louis would let him. “That way I could come back and forth as many times as I wanted to and it would take no time at all.”

“Trained eagle it is.”

He sees the way Louis’ mouth pulls up into a smile. It’s faint, and lazy — and although they’re both intoxicated and tired, Zayn still feels like he’s back in his childhood bedroom; happy and younger than now. 

It’s silent for a moment. Louis’ eyes fall shut and Zayn remains watching him, afraid that if he looks away, Louis might disappear and he’ll wake up in a sweat, the whole night just another made-up fantasy he’d fabricated in a dream. Zayn desperately wants to reach out, just to know he’s real. 

“Told you we’d be a drunken match made in heaven.” Louis whispers, barely audible.

Zayn doesn't think he expects a response so he doesn’t give one. And soon after, he hears Louis drift off to sleep, the sound of his breathing becoming heavier, seeing his chest rise and fall.

“Be wary of how close you wanna get with him, yeah?” Niall had told him once they had gotten to the bar earlier in the night, after taking Zayn away from Louis, “I know how much this means to you and how you wanna do it right.”

Zayn had sighed. “Yeah.”

Niall ordered them both a drink, then turned to Zayn properly, his face serious, “I’m just sayin’, mate, that if you’re gonna make a move, just wait ’til everything’s out in the open.”

And Zayn had nodded. But the words echoed back to him a second later, “Make a move?” Zayn repeated as Niall scratched his nose idly, “Niall, Louis doesn’t even—“

“Zayn,” Niall placed a hand on his shoulder, looked at him with a somewhat fed-up expression, “You don’t see what we see, yeah? You’re definitely not alone in this.” The beers arrived and Niall picked up his own, “He feels the same.”

A feeling of butterflies flew around his in stomach, the sensation repeating itself now as Zayn lies there, the words of ‘ _he feels the same_ ’, floating in his thoughts. 

Niall was the first to know, back when they were still in school, that Zayn was pining over his best friend. 

They’d been at a party and Louis had been linked to his new girlfriend, parading her around and kissing her cheek and laughing at her jokes. Zayn had met her that night, too, having heard of her plenty times before that. And she was lovely, was the thing, she was charismatic and loud and beautiful, and Zayn had seethed at her from across the room. 

“I wanna, like… I wanna say something,” Zayn had slurred to Niall as they escaped outside, something they had done ever since they started going to parties — Zayn, needing a little time away from everyone, and Niall needing a little air to breathe, “I wanna say something and y’can’t laugh, alright? You can’t laugh. Promise me you won’t… you won’t laugh.”

And Niall had laughed. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

Taking in a deep breath, Zayn prepared himself. “So… you know Louis?”

With a snort, Niall said, “Yes, I know Louis.”

“Do you, uh,” Zayn had hiccuped. “D’you like his girlfriend? She’s pretty, innit she?”

Niall shrugged. “Pretty, yeah. Not right for Lou, though.”

“Really? Why?”

“Dunno. No real chemistry, I reckon.”

Zayn looked to the floor. Shuffled his feet against fallen ash. “I like Lou.”

“I like him, too.”

“No,” Zayn stared at Niall, tried not to sway on the spot, “I like him as in… _I_ wanna be his girlfriend. Boyfriend. I wanna be his boyfriend.”

And Niall had looked him in the eye, and laughed. 

Zayn pouted, “You promised me—“

“I _know_ this, Zayn. Fuckin’ hell. I’ve known it since the dawn of time.”

And ever since then, Niall was the only one who knew. Zayn’s not sure if that still reigns true, not sure if he had kept his secret after the accident, after Zayn left. He assumes Liam and Harry know, now, and that’s why whenever Louis and Zayn were close, Liam had eyed them off and Harry had a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Zayn reaches out, brushes his knuckles over Louis’ arm, then lets the heaviness of his eyelids take over. 

_

 

_“Louis!”_

_His lungs hurt from screaming, his throat’s dry and his eyes are blurry with tears. He can’t see anything but the rushing of paramedics, of the lights — so many lights, and he can’t see Louis at all._

_“Louis!” He screams louder but the sound of it is dulled by voices, of sirens, of the constant ringing in his ears that won’t go away._

_“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down for me, okay?”_

_Zayn immediately locks eyes with a woman that’s by his side, close to his arm. There’s a few other people around him, inspecting him, making sure he’s okay, but he’s not the one that’s in danger. He’s not the person that’s not shouting back._

_“Where is he? Is he okay? Is he alive?”_

_“He’s alive.” She tells him. It settles the panic in his veins, if only a little._

_He swallows harshly, “Then why—?“_

_“He’s going to hospital, okay? We’ll be taking you there, too.” She fetches out a tiny flashlight and shines it in his eyes. She holds it there for a few seconds, then switches it off. “Stay awake for me. We suspect you might have a broken arm, and a concussion. But you’re in shock right now.”_

_It’s then, that Zayn’s eyes glide over to the scene of the crash, to where his car remains in the middle of the road, police surrounding it. He takes a sharp intake of breath, his stomach falling to the asphalt. A truck, the one Zayn recalls speeding towards them, is crashed into the passenger side of Zayn’s car, the window broken and the front of it deformed._

_He feels a tear drop from his lashes. There’s no way somebody could survive that._

_“Louis!” He screams again, weaker this time, his voice cracking. He sees the other ambulance closing their doors before speeding off. Zayn sniffs, looking down at his lap, the pain of his arm shooting through him suddenly._

_He lets out a loud groan and the paramedics rush him into the ambulance, the rest of Zayn’s body numb._

___

When Zayn wakes, it’s with regret. 

The scene of the accident is at the forefront of his mind. His head hurts from the hangover, his eyes hurt from the light streaming in and his stomach hurts from hunger, but none of it compares to the unexplainable weight he feels hanging in his gut.

It deepens when he turns his head and finds Louis sleeping next to him, his soft snores filling the room. The leftover tears on Zayn’s cheeks from the nightmare feel dry against his skin and he wipes them hastily, a reminder of why Louis’ sleeping next to him, and not yelling at him like he would if he knew. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. Louis’ asleep in his bed and Zayn doesn’t deserve it at all. 

He shakes his head and lets his fingers fall lightly onto Louis’ pillow, brushing past his hair. There’s a moment where Louis’ breath fall rhythmically throughout the room and Zayn’s own is bated. His head throbs with the beginnings of a hangover, a sore reminder of how much fun they had last night. 

He closes his eyes, thinks, _we should never have met again_ , and leaves the room.

By habit he enters the kitchen and automatically starts filling up the kettle. As he does so, he oversees the lounge room. It’s filled with three separate snores; Niall who’s curled up against Harry’s side, Harry who’s sleeping with his mouth wide open, possibly drooling, and Liam who’s faced away from Zayn, lying on his stomach, halfway off the mattress. The sight of it almost makes Zayn’s heart lurch, reliving the memories of morning’s after, of the five of them waking up barely able to function and having brunch at the café that serves hot chips before noon. 

Fuck, they’re good memories.

The kettle boils, and as Zayn turns to make himself a tea, he hears someone stir awake amongst the bodies. 

“Mornin’.” 

Zayn turns half-way, already knowing the voice, even with the morning croak. “‘Lo.Tea?”

“Mm,” Liam hums, the sound of it turning out like a grunt more than anything. “Please.”

So Zayn makes two cups, then hands one to Liam as he joins him. They decide to go outside, as to not wake the others, and the frostiness of the air sort of soothes the ache of his body, making the toxins sweating out more bearable. 

“How’re you feeling?” Liam asks, blowing on the steam of his tea. 

Zayn looks out over his backyard. To encapsulate his emotions in one word is impossible, and way too complex for small talk in the morning. 

He shrugs one shoulder. “Not bad.” It tastes sour coming from his mouth. “You?”

“Yeah, shit.” Liam laughs. It’s half-hearted. “How much did I drink last night?”

Zayn looks at the spot where Liam had done a handstand on the grass. He smirks behind his mug, “A lot.”

Liam laughs again, this time shaking his head at himself. 

The stream from their tea’s rise as the two of them fall quiet; the rest of the town well alive and the sun wide awake, sitting firmly in the sky. Zayn wonders where it would lead him if he chased it.

“Hey, Zayn, I…” Liam starts talking and his tone is no longer light. His voice is still husky from sleepand his eyes are still puffy and it’s just way too early for them to do this, midday be damned. “I really hope you can forgive me— us.”

He contemplates leaving it there. Saying, “ _I do. Now let’s move on_.” but there’s only so many hours in the day, and time is of the essence and that. Also, Liam’s looking at him so earnestly, with so much hope in his eyes Zayn almost wants to roll his own and give him a hug. 

“I want to.” Zayn finds himself saying. And Liam smiles, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards slightly, like he’s won something. Zayn shatters it by sighing deeply. “But I’ve been so alone, Liam.” He looks down at his tea, then shuts his eyes. He allows a second to pass, the blackness easy to focus on. “So… fucking sad that I don’t even want to admit.” He lets the light in, stares at nothing. “A simple phone call, one little check-up, mate. That’s all I wanted.”

Words don’t follow for a long time and Zayn’s almost worried he broke him. It drags on, the both of them frozen in place like the air around them, afraid to move. Then, Liam does. 

“I felt so—“ He stops himself, the words coming out choked. Zayn shuts his eyes again. It’s safer that way. “So awful, Zayn. About everything. I still carry around the guilt I have with calling you both over to my house that night even though I _knew_ you wouldn’t be able to—“

“No.” Zayn interrupts, locking eyes with him. He shakes his head. “That wasn’t your fault.”

But Liam doesn’t acknowledge it. “And then everything happened so fast, after that.” 

He takes in a shaky breath. Zayn can see his jaw as he clenches it. Then he looks at Zayn, eyes shiny. 

“We were told Louis might not make it, then we were told you were gone.” He drops his gaze to his shoes. Zayn presses his fingernails into his palm. “Me and the boys… we were trying to cope as well as we could. We’d call you but it would go to voicemail, every time. It felt like a dead-end. We tried to talk to your family but they weren’t… it was hard to talk to them, you know? Then we thought you just bailed for no reason, didn’t want to—fuck, I don’t know, be there to pick up the pieces? It was wrong for us to think that, I know. But it was such a fucking fragile and dark time, Zayn. And you weren’t there. You weren’t _there_ for us and we had to deal with the loss of you and the potential loss of Louis, and…” He swallows, blinks away the wetness forming in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zayn. You know? I really am.”

The lump in Zayn’s throat grows uncomfortable and he bites the inside of his cheek. “ _God_ ,” He whispers, looking up at the sky. 

He hadn’t thought about how it must have been from the other side. How the boys must have felt like they were abandoned somehow, like Zayn had escaped and let them deal with it without a good-bye. Liam’s words hit him hard, and he hates that this is the second time this week that his backyard’s seen his tears.

He pulls Liam into a hug and Liam squeezes him immediately. “I’m sorry.” He says, fisting at his shirt. “I’m so sorry, too.”

 

_Louis_

The sound of his car jumping to a start makes himself and the boys cheer. Louis throws his hands up, grinning as Niall sits in the car, the rest of them crowded around it. 

They had spent the day sluggishly moving around the house, trying to function as they packed away their things and ate at Mary’s café. She had questioned them briefly, asked if they had heard anyone running up and down the street last night, and the five of them shook their heads, to which Mary shrugged, and told them it was probably just her hearing acting up. 

Louis had woken up alone, the space next to him empty and cold. He remembers the night well, remembers sleeping next to Zayn, remembers how much they had laughed together. He wonders how early Zayn left the bed. If he even slept in it at all. 

Looking at him now, smiling but his eyes lacking a certain spark, Louis couldn’t say. 

“Well, guess it’s time, then.” Liam says, resting his hand lightly on Louis’ bicep. 

Louis nods, looking at Liam. When his eyes drift to the ground, his smile goes with it. Leaving this time around seems so much harder than the first. He clenches one side of his jaw, scuffs the rocks at his shoes, then sniffs before looking back up to where Zayn’s already waiting for him. 

“Until next time, then?” Zayn says, an upwards tilt to his mouth as he takes a step forward. 

Louis nods, feels his own lips twitch to a smile as he exhales, “Until next time, yeah.”

There’s a moment where the weight of good-bye lays there between them, and if Louis didn’t know better, he’d say that Zayn almost looks _sad_ that he’s leaving. It represents entirely what Louis feels and he decides to bite apprehension in the arse and take a step closer, pulling Zayn into a hug.

On Zayn’s part, he’s hesitant. But eventually Louis feels sturdy arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“I’ll see you soon.” Louis tells him.

With a lowered voice, Zayn says, “D’you have to go?”

Louis’ stomach flips at the words. He moves away, his hands still holding onto Zayn’s arms but he sees his face, and his eyes are filled with regret but they refuse to look at him, almost like he’s embarrassed. Louis’ just about rendered speechless. 

“The boys, they’re… they’re all going home, Zayn.” He lets out a weak laugh, voice incredibly soft, “I can’t really stay on my own, you know? Didn’t exactly, er, go to plan last time.”

“I’ll stay with ya.”

Louis’ eyes slide over to Harry, his words coming out muffled from the banana in his mouth. Where the fuck did he get a banana?

“Harry—“

“Nah, I can.” Harry continues, swallowing and peeling back the fruit to reveal more. “Don’t ‘ave work ’til Tuesday.”

“I’ll drive y’car, Lou.” Niall says from the front seat out the window, “Liam can drive mine and then Harry’ll drive his own when he takes you with ‘im.”

Louis blinks, “Uh—“

“That’s fine with me.” Liam says, smiling like it’s a done deal already. 

When Louis looks back at Zayn, he realises he’s still holding his arms. He lets go, but Zayn’s eyes are wide with hope. Jesus, Louis might die on the spot. 

“Is that…” Louis brings his hand up to scratch the back of his head, then drops it to his jeans, “Is that all okay with you?”

He flits his eyes over to Harry, who takes another humungous bite out of the banana, his shit-eating smirk still visible when he chews. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, the beginnings of a smile showing, “That’s cool.”

“Great! Then it’s settled.” Niall announces, getting out of the car. He stretches out his arms and pulls Zayn into a hug. Zayn goes willingly, hugging him back tight. And Louis thinks he should throw himself off the hill because there’s an unexpected, angry pull of his gut, seeing how much quicker Zayn warmed up to him than he had Louis. It’s taken him two whole _weeks_ for a decent hug, alright?

“I’ll see you later, then, mate.” Liam’s saying, clapping him on the back. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Yes, _dad_ , alright.”

They pull back and Liam matches the small smile on Louis’ face, before moving his hand into Louis’ hair, messing it up. As Louis tries to straighten it out, Niall’s saying good-bye to Harry, and Liam to Zayn. 

Then Niall’s tackling Louis and jumping over him, saying his farewells as he does so. Louis manages to push him off, but not before Niall reaches over and pecks him on the cheek. 

And then they’re off, Niall and Liam in cars that aren’t their own, driving out of Hillside towards their hometown. 

“And then there were three.”

Zayn and Louis turn to Harry, who’s got his hands on his hips, smiling with his dimple out. 

_

  
The sun has an unfortunate way of shining right where Louis has eyes, and so he covers it with an arm slung over his head, seeing blackness and feeling the coldness from the grass on his back and the warmth on his front. 

Zayn and Harry are lying down, too, all their heads meeting in the middle. It’d been Harry’s idea, of course — “Tell you what we should do? We should find an open area of grass. And then we should lay in it.”— but the way they’re set out sort of reminds Louis of something. 

“Hey, Harry.” 

“Mm?” 

“Doesn’t this remind you of that one scene in _The Lion King_?” Louis asks, the hand that’s not over his head fiddling with the grass. “Y’know, the scene with Simba, Timon and Pumbaa?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Harry replies, the word dragging in a light tone, “It does! I’m Pumbaa, you’re Timon and Zayn’s Simba.”

Louis moves his arm and immediately gets assaulted by the sun, but then he’s rolling so he can see Harry’s face. He’s grinning, but his arm’s covering his own eyes, too. 

“ _I’m_ Timon?” Louis asks, insulted. “Why in the bloody hell am I Timon?”

He sees Zayn’s mouth tilt up in an amused smirk. Louis narrows his eyes at him which goes unnoticed. 

“Well, you’re not gonna be Pumbaa, are ya?” Harry says. 

Louis huffs, then rolls onto his back again and resumes his position. With a mumble, he says, “Could be Simba.”

“Nah,” Harry says immediately, “Zayn’s the lion, here.”

Louis twists his mouth, unable to argue with that. He swipes the top row of his teeth with his tongue. “It’s just ‘cause I’m the smallest one here, innit?”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Then, “Yeah.”

Zayn snorts out a laugh and Harry goes with it, the two of them chuckling shamelessly, the sound making Louis’ smile slip out. The laughter fades, and eventually the only thing heard is the light breeze around them, followed by birds chirping in the distance. He wonders if Zayn does this sometimes, lies here and listens to nothing else but the sounds of nature. Louis would do it all the time if his hometown wasn’t polluted with traffic and barking dogs. 

He says as much, and Harry hums in agreement. 

“Gets repetitive, after a while.” Zayn tells him.

Louis raises a brow and turns his head to look at him. Zayn’s face is directed towards the sky, his eyes shut peacefully, bathed in light and not a hair out of place. Louis feels an ugly cocktail of overwhelming admiration mixed with seething envy stir in his gut. It’s mostly admiration. Maybe only a shot worth of envy. It’s still terrible-tasting and definitely not Louis’ favourite drink. 

And — what was the conversation again?

“I could see that.” Harry says before Louis can get his thoughts in order. He decides to hide his eyes under his arm again. The less he sees the better, apparently.

“It’d probably freak me out, if I’m honest,” Louis says, “Just out here in the sparseness of it all. Like, makes you feel so small.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he points to Harry, “Don’t say a word.”

He lets out a short giggle in response, then shakes his head. “I reckon I feel smaller back home. Like, here, there’s not many people so you feel more important, somehow. Then when you’re in Doncaster, there’s so many different people with different lives and you sort of blend in as one. Like, you become insignificant, almost.”

Louis blinks at Harry, then reaches out to stroke his arm, “You’re not insignificant to me, Hazza.”

Harry’s grin widens, then he looks over at Louis, “Thanks, man.”

“But anyway,” Louis says, pulling back his hand and turning away, “What do you think about it, Zayn?”

“I dunno,” Zayn answers truthfully. He takes a while to respond, the silence comforting between them. “Probably same as ‘Arreh. S’weird, ‘cause like, I live in such a bubble here? Everything’s amplified, y’know? It’s such an open space but at times you feel like you’re suffocating.”

Louis swallows. He felt exactly the same way when he first got here. “How did you feel back when you were living in Doncaster?”

Unexpectedly, Harry coughs and splutters, almost like he just choked on his own spit. Louis turns to him and frowns, seeing if the poor boy’s alive. He’s sitting up, hand to his mouth and Louis pats his back three times.

“Jesus, mate, that was violent.” Louis says with a short laugh, “Y’alright there?”

Zayn sits up slowly and they lock eyes, a careful yet non-revealing expression on his face. He turns to Harry, though Harry’s face is unseen for both of them. “Y’alright?” Zayn echoes Louis, then when Harry turns his head to Zayn, something flickers in Zayn’s eyes but it’s gone before Louis can determine what it means. “I used to live in Doncaster a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Harry chokes out, surprisingly high, “Did you?”

Zayn nods, “I did. Told Louis as much the last time he was here.”

“Ah,” Harry lets out one last cough before saying, “Cool.”

Louis shoots Harry a perplexed stare as Harry shuffles so he’s facing the two of them, but Harry merely gives him a half-hearted smile before delving his attention to his own shoes. 

“And, no,” Zayn says, and it takes a moment for Louis to realise he’s replying to him, “I never felt suffocated when I was there.”

Louis drops his gaze to look at the grass. “ _Then why stay?”_ He wants to ask. 

 

_Zayn_

Harry sits in Zayn’s living room chair as best he can, legs sprawled out and entire body looking like it’s squashed in one area. He still manages to curl up somehow, like a cat, and Zayn watches the spectacle in amusement as the sound of the shower plays in the next room. 

“You’re taller, now.” Zayn decides to tell him, “You know that, right?”

Harry smirks up at him, “And you’ve got a beard now.”

Zayn reaches up to run his fingers along it, almost like a reflex, “I do, yeah.”

“Do you like it?”

Zayn shrugs.

“I like it. Makes you look older.”

Zayn smiles. 

“Your hair’s long, too.” Harry says.

Zayn brings his hand up to touch it, the length falling just above his shoulders, framing his face. It’s long, but not long enough to tie it up. “Er, yeah. There’s not really— ‘aven’t had a chance to cut it, or, like…”

But Harry shakes his head. “Don’t need it. It looks wonderful, Zayn.”

Zayn snorts at the compliment, then looks Harry up and down. “Your boots make you look more sophisticated.” 

Harry laughs, “Thanks. You don’t think they look girly?”

Again, Zayn shrugs. “What’s girly, anyway?”

They share a smile and Zayn thinks back to their conversations like these, usually with limited words, both communicating with their eyes more than any verbalisation at all. He remembers the times they’d skip class just to spend it walking around; Harry would talk about endless nothing’s and Zayn would enjoy his company and the two of them would bask in silence comfortably. Zayn’s never known someone who’s understood him so well with so little history of conversation between them. 

“Hey, Zayn?” Harry asks after a moment, having changed his position with his feet dangling off the side, stretched out on the chair that definitely could not be comfortable. 

“Yeah?”

Harry nods a few times before looking off towards the corridor. “You should tell him.”

“I need to.” Zayn agrees without a second thought. 

“You do.”

And regardless of the angel and devil on either side of his shoulder, each conducting their own arguments on whether to spill the truth or not, Zayn knows he has to. He still doesn’t know what outcome belongs to what imaginative figure filled with his conscience, but he’ll say it’s the angel. He tells himself it’s the angel.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Good.” Harry tells him, satisfied. He smiles at him. “Missed you.”

Zayn returns it and walks forwards until he’s close to him. He lets his knuckles brush against Harry’s cheekbone slightly and Harry nuzzles into it, purring. Zayn lets out a chuckle, “Missed you too, babes.”


	14. Chapter 14

_ Louis _

Harry’s still in the chair by the time Zayn and Louis decide to get out of the house. They’d seen the way Harry’s eyes were drooping dangerously as they watched television, and Zayn had leaned over to Louis as they sat on the remaining mattress and said, “Wanna see the view?” And Louis hadn’t left much time, after that. 

It was nearing night-time, now, and Louis had taken the tub of ice-cream that they’d bought from Pete’s mini-grocer earlier in the afternoon with him as they walked, Zayn in charge of the spoons. 

Louis tries not to read into it like he had the first time he visited this particular spot — but he can’t help but place romantic connotations to it all. They’ll be overlooking city lights during the sunset whilst sharing a tub of ice-cream, the two of them alone — and, fuck, how can he _not_ read into it? He feels nerves in his gut as he walks, feelings similar to when he’d meet up with guys for dates, the excitement making him jittery and susceptible to saying words that rush like waterfalls. 

Which is probably why he starts the conversation with, “Are you a dog or cat person, then? I, personally, would much rather a pet dog, since I feel like cats are out to get me, y’know? Can’t trust ‘em, I don’t think.”

And Zayn’s smile comes out of nowhere so Louis exhales before looking up at the trees towards the sky, nerves duplicating. “I’m either. But I like cats, they’re cute. And entertaining.”

“Very true,” Louis says, tapping Zayn’s arm with his hand as he does so. He catches himself, though, and pulls away just as fast, “Those YouTube videos are _classic_.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says on a laugh. And Louis wants to shake his own brain, question how he thought discussing cats and dogs was a good line to start with for a date. And— god, it’s not even a _date_. Jumping ahead has always has been his forte. He’s about to change the subject, when, “You’re quite feline-like, I think.”

Louis blinks at him. Zayn just stares back, slight amusement in his expression. “What, are you saying I’m a cat, Zayn? Is that what you’re saying?” Zayn lets out a laugh and despite Louis’ words, he brings a smile, too. “You think I chase lasers and get stuck in boxes and fall off of great heights on the daily?”

The laugh that comes next makes Louis’ nerves dissipate in seconds. Zayn’s eyes disappear into half-moons as he grins, the sound of his laugh shooting through the forest, head slightly thrown back as he does so. It lasts the same duration as it takes for his heart to calm but Louis still stares at him even as Zayn recovers, shaking his head slowly. His eyes open fully and he looks out beyond him. It’s not until he points in the same direction when Louis realises they’ve stopped walking. 

He looks forward, and is met with the city scape and all it’s lights, shining brightly against the darkening blue sky. The electricity dims the moon but the entire picture before him holds no comparison to what he saw moments ago. 

_Fuck_ , Louis immediately scolds himself, _Get it together_.

“What do you think?”

Louis looks at Zayn, sees the left side of his face casted by shadow and his right visible by light, and swallows. “It’s… Yeah.”

Zayn laughs, “Yeah?”

“Er,” Louis looks away from him, back to the view in question, “‘M speechless?”

“I can see that.”

Louis sincerely hopes he’s not blushing. He also, very much so, hopes that Zayn doesn’t notice. In order for that to not happen, Louis decides to sit down and open up the ice-cream that’s wet the side of his shirt from condensation. Zayn sits, too, and then hands one spoon to Louis. 

And as the sun settles and Louis does too, they eat together in silence. A few spoon-full’s later, Louis sits back, resting his palms against the dirt. Zayn copies him shortly after, then turns to him. 

“I meant it, you know.” He says, eyes still looking at the city, “When I said only you and I know about this spot.”

Louis studies his profile, feels his stomach swoop, “Really?”

“Yeah,” He replies, then locks eyes with him, the corners of his mouth tilting up, “So you have to swear you won’t tell anyone else.”

Louis nods, “Okay.”

Zayn’s smile grows, and then he’s sitting up and scoots a tiny bit closer. Louis feels his heart speed up but Zayn stops before they’re touching. And then he’s holding out his pinky finger, the weight of it dangling in the air. Louis stares at it, then looks at Zayn, beginning to frown in question. 

Zayn's smile drops. “Pinky promise.” He clarifies.

Louis’ frown deepens in confusion, “A what promise?”

Blinking in disbelief, Zayn sort of looks like he’s just been insulted. Louis mentally kicks himself. Zayn bites the inside of his lip before saying, “You’ve never—? You don’t know what a pinky promise is?”

Louis shakes his head, forcing back an apology. 

“Wow. Uh, here,” He reaches out without warning and takes Louis’ hand in his own. Louis’ eyes widen. Zayn’s hands are warm against his skin and his touch is so delicate Louis could fall with it. He watches as Zayn folds all his fingers down, then lightly pulls out his pinky finger, sticking it out like Zayn’s was. Then he mimics it on his own hand and wraps his finger around Louis’ before moving them up and down like a handshake. “Pinky promise.”

Louis finds himself smiling bashfully and tries to will himself to stop, “Oh.”

They shake a few more times before Zayn’s untwining them, “So now you really have to promise. Because otherwise I’d have to chop it off.”

“Huh.” Louis says, inspecting the finger, “Who knew it held such importance.”

Zayn smiles genuinely, but there’s a twinkle of sadness lingering in his eyes. “Can’t believe you’ve never heard of it before.”

“Well,” Louis clears his throat weakly. He deliberates on whether he should explain about the memory loss, whether it’s worth going into whilst they’re here. Zayn already knows that he was involved in some kind of accident, before, and he feels as though Zayn wouldn’t cast him the sympathy vote at all. He bites the bullet. “I, er, sort of have amnesia?” He says lamely, his finger finding the dirt, scratching it aimlessly. His eyes flit up to scope Zayn and he’s looking at Louis intently, eyes boring into him, but not much else, not like the usual shock he receives. “Not ' _sort of'_ , I do. I do have it. So, basically, all my long-term memory’s vanished? Like, crazy how the brain works, innit? How easily something can get knocked and then, like, bam,” He snaps his fingers, “Your whole life’s wiped away.”

He laughs meekly, doesn’t dare look up from where he’s itching at the earth, afraid of the type of face that will meet him. “It was the accident I told you about? I don’t know if you remember but, yeah. A car accident. Got in a taxi late one night when it was icy as fuck on the roads and some whack-job truck driver was speeding and, y’know, wrong place, wrong time and that.” He swallows, then sniffs, “Crashed into my side of the car and placed me in a coma for three weeks, so.” He chances a look and sees Zayn’s face remaining exactly the same, his eyes looking if not deeper than before. “That’s why I don’t know about the, er, pinky promise… thing.”

Zayn drops his lock on Louis and his gaze falls to the dirt. Louis can’t gauge him for shit — for all he knows, Zayn could either be two seconds from crying or merely singing the Barney theme song on loop, he truly doesn’t know. But when the silence drones on and Louis feels slightly awkward for dwelling about his life misery, he scoots a little closer, trying to meet his eyes. 

“You okay?” He asks, reaching out but not touching, “Usually this is the part where people go all soft on me and pet me hair.”

“Did they ever…?” Zayn’s voice trails off, and his brows pull together, but his eyes still don’t look up. “What happened to the taxi driver?”

It’s an unexpected question, but Louis answers anyway, “Well, _apparently_ , he’s on the run. The bastard.” He says, looking out at the city. He does wonder about him, sometimes. Wonders where he’s gone off to. “I mean, the actual accident wasn’t his fault, but.” He shrugs his shoulders, then leans back onto his hands again, “What kind of sicko puts a kid into a coma and then bolts? I’m no saint meself, but some ownership would be nice.”

There’s a few seconds of nothing after that. But eventually he hears Zayn let out a stilted, “Yeah.”

_ Zayn _

Louis had moved on from the conversation smoothly, picking up the ice-cream tub and offering it to Zayn before placing it between them.

“So, home tomorrow.” He had said, the length of his body shifting as he leaned back onto his elbows. “For real, this time.”

It was said with a laugh and Zayn wanted to return it but there was a stone in his throat and the air seemed impossible to take in. _Some ownership would be nice_. The past conversation had whirled around in his head, consuming him. He’d never known, before this, what exactly Louis felt towards the accident, towards everyone involved. But he saw it in his eyes, now. In the way he spoke about it. He’s pissed off, resentful, and he has every right to be. Louis hates him. 

“Will you come back?” He managed to ask, his fingertips pressing into his palms. 

And Louis smiled. His eyes looked at the ground, an eyelash falling onto his cheek as he did so and he smiled. When he saw Zayn, it grew, and the knife he had from their first week together came back, pressing harder into him and forcing him to bleed out.

“Pinky promise.” Louis had said, his eyes glistened and pinky extended towards him. Zayn was left there to die. 

And now he’s here, sitting at the edge of his bed as Louis helps Harry onto the mattress on the floor since he was still in the same position as when they’d left and Louis had commented, “He’s gonna have the sorest body tomorrow,” along with a chuckle. And Zayn had agreed, but he’s not sure whether it’s him that replied or the ghost of him. Because Louis’ misconception of Zayn is someone who caused a brain injury and ran away without facing the consequences. And that’s all he is to him, that’s all he’ll ever be, because the past is non-existent, unretrievable, and all the best friends he knows and deserves have been there the whole time. 

It’s like as soon as Zayn’s one step closer to revealing his demons, a hurdle appears and he gets pushed back to the starting line. He’s selfish and guilty and _weak_ , and Louis still treats him better than anyone. 

“You okay?” Louis asks from the doorway, as though certifying Zayn’s inner turmoil. He waits until Zayn acknowledges him before stepping into the room and sitting down next to him, hand resting lightly on Zayn’s elbow. “You look a bit sick, there.”

_Sicko_. 

Zayn looks away from him, tries to hold down the acid that’s possibly threatening to come up.

“Zayn, why do you stay here?” Louis asks, voice soft. Too soft. He adjusts his position, faces Zayn more. “I mean, of all the places you could go, why here?”

Zayn’s thoughts turn bitter. He warps his voice into something lighter when he says, “You don’t like it?”

It’s said in a self-deprecative way, hopes it comes across as much, because he _knows_ Louis doesn’t. And Louis gets it. He laughs shortly, squeezes Zayn’s elbow only just.

“The demographic's people over forty, for a start.” He points out, “Besides Pete and Wendall’s kids that are sometimes here, and Anthony. But those kids are the smartest little things I’ve ever seen. Probably smarter than _all_ my siblings, and I’ve got six of ‘em!” He’s most likely looking for a surprised expression in return, but Zayn just smiles softly, remembering Louis’ sisters. Jay must have had two more. “And I don’t want them messing ‘round with the amount of dumb arses there are on the outside.” He lets out a chuckle and Zayn follows, smaller. “And, y’know, Anthony’s _Anthony_. But, you…”

He breaks off and his thumb swipes against the bare skin of Zayn’s elbow, his head bending a little until they meet eyes. Louis’ looking at him warmly. Zayn wants to throw himself out the window. 

“You deserve to be out there, like, out in the city that we can see from the view. Out there living and meeting people and singing for bigger and better crowds…” He stops himself suddenly and then drops his hand, the contact instantly missed. “Shit, what _am_ I saying? Telling you what to do and all that. Jesus, sorry.”

He laughs but it lacks power and Zayn can tell he’s about to move away. Before he does, though, Zayn circles Louis’ wrist before he even knows what he’s doing and allows him to stay. 

Louis’ looking at him whilst Zayn remains silent until he finds the words to say, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Louis relaxes a little but his eyes are still wide with anticipation, “What, me telling you want to do?”

And Zayn nods. He releases his grip from Louis and watches with the way his eyes dim. Zayn shrugs. “Yeah. And I — I did live in the city for a bit. After Doncaster. Hated it, though.”

“Oh.”

“Hate it here, too.”

Louis bites his lip, likes he’s deliberating something, then shifts so their knees touch. “Then why stay?”

Zayn’s gaze falls to his hands in his lap. He doesn’t know. 

The bed moves under him and when he looks back up, Louis’ even closer. He rests a hand on Zayn’s arm, above the elbow, and Zayn’s stuck in place. Then Louis speaks and it breaks him. 

“Come back to Doncaster with me and Harry.”

Zayn moves away. Away from his touch, away from his space. He moves to the corner of the bed, almost falling off as he does so. He shakes his head and hates the way Louis looks elsewhere, hurt written in his expression. 

“No, I can’t.”

Louis’ jaw clenches but it’s not in anger. He still doesn’t look at him when he says, “The offer’s there, Zayn.”

_Louis_

It’s no surprise to find an empty bed beside him when he wakes the next morning. 

He sighs, realising how close they had gotten last night, how much progress was made. Then Louis had to go and fuck it up by inviting him back home. The phantom of Zayn’s touch on his wrist is still there, and Louis lets out a huff. It’s like playing chess with him, really, and Louis’ always been shit at chess. 

He leaves the room in his pyjamas and finds Harry lying on his stomach on the mattress, phone in hand. He looks up when he sees Louis and smiles lazily, eyes still sleepy. 

“Mornin’.” Harry greets, voice hoarse.

Louis waves at him before moving towards the kitchen and putting on the kettle. “Where’s Zayn?”

Harry shrugs, “Didn’t say much when he left, just that he was gettin’ groceries, I think.”

Louis nods. He doesn’t tell Harry it’s probably just an excuse to spend as little time as possible with them before they leave. Why is he so bloody afraid of attachment?

Once the kettle’s boiled, he makes a cup of tea and heads outside. There, he spots the shed where Zayn creates his songs, the ones he sings every weekend. The door of it is wide open, which means Zayn was probably there early this morning. He steps down the porch and heads towards it, interested in the one part of the house that actually shows Zayn’s personality. 

With one cup in his hand, he lets the other trace over the walls, the music stand, the guitar he hardly ever sees back in its rightful place. He realises that this area is what he probably would miss the most, if anything, and wonders if this is the reason why Zayn stays. 

It’s a shed that acts like a window into Zayn’s life, his hobbies and his talents. It’s organised in a way only Zayn would understand. Papers upon papers on his desk, some with finished lyrics and some with words scribbled out. More predominately, there’s one sitting alone, pen to the side of it. 

_I know sometimes I hide it but I can’t this time ‘cause it’s gonna defeat me_  
But you won’t believe me  
Believe me   


~~ _But_ ~~ _‘Cause I’m a fool for you  
_ _And the things you do_

Louis smiles as he reads it, traces over it as he sets his mug down. “Softie.”

He glances up and spots the pin-board covered from corner to corner with pictures of inspiration and fake money and an admission ticket to the Eiffel Tower. There’s a lot of miscellaneous things that Louis didn’t get to notice the other times he was here. Maybe one day they could sit down and talk about it all, have Zayn explain each little item, maybe that way Louis could know _something_ about him. 

He looks to the right side of the pin-board and sees a postcard from somewhere that doesn’t say. It’s just a sunrise over a mountain with the company’s logo on the bottom. He lifts it up awkwardly and finds it bare on the other side. 

He’s just about to fold it back down when something else catches his eye. 

And he has to do a double take. 

“What the fuck?” He whispers, a feeling like no other washing through him, creating goosebumps on his skin. 

He reaches up and rips the item off the board, inspecting it closer. It’s a news article about a crash that happened in Doncaster involving two boys and a middle-aged man, one of them resulting in a coma. Most of it is ripped away, the story cut short, but the one thing that remains is a photo. 

And the photo is himself. 

“What the _fuck_?” He repeats, his hands now shaky as he holds it, his veins running cold. 

There’s a photo of himself in Zayn’s shed. Zayn _knows_ who he is. 

His first thought is that he has to get out of here. He has to run inside, collect Harry, and drive away as fast as he can. But his legs have suddenly become jelly and his feet are cemented to the floor, shock holding him down. He doesn’t know how much time passes but his brain’s no longer working correctly, and a part of him wishes he’d wake up.

“Hey, who said you were allowed in here, huh?”

Louis’ breathing quickens and he turns around with a start. Zayn’s there, hands behind his back as he looks at him warmly, a joke hanging off his words. But his expression falters once he sees Louis’ face and Louis tries to steady himself by using the desk, the article still in his hand. 

“Who are you?” Louis demands, the first words he can think of, his voice coming out unfamiliar. 

Zayn looks at him for a moment, his body deflating. His brows etch together in concern. “You know who—“

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” He shrieks, now clutching onto the desk with both hands, fear and uncertainty racking his bones. 

Zayn looks as though he doesn't know what to do, at a loss. His hands are still behind his back and Louis doesn’t know what he’s holding but he guesses it’s a knife or some kind of weapon and when Zayn inches closer Louis backs away even more, heart stuttering. 

“Why are you asking me that?”

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He thrusts the article towards Zayn, the paper hardly noticeable as it fits the size of his hand, but Zayn recognises it instantly. As soon as his eyes zero in on it, his face pales white. He also drops whatever was in his grasp to the ground and Louis flinches from it. Then he sees that it was a bouquet of flowers. A bouquet of _flowers_. Louis feels tears pricking at his eyes. 

His voice comes out choked when he speaks, “Why—why do you have this?” He drops his hand to his side, “What does it have to do with you? Why is it _here_?” 

Zayn looks pained, strangled. He takes a step forward but Louis lets out a sound and holds his hand up to stop so Zayn does. Zayn lets out a breath and he looks poorly. He does. 

“I was going to tell you.” He says to the floor. 

Louis swallows down his tears. “When?”

“Today.” Zayn says. “Before you left.”

Louis’ shaking his head before he finishes. “Bullshit.”

There’s silence and as Louis looks at Zayn he feels sick to his stomach. Zayn’s known him this entire time. He’s known about the accident. He’s known about his memory. He’s known _him_ and he acted so well for Louis to think that he didn’t. 

“I was there when the accident happened.” Zayn begins, his shoulders tense, words trying their best to come out steady. Louis listens, but he doesn’t know what to believe. “Both drivers were in the wrong and I was— _shit_!” He suddenly yells and his fist collides with the wall of the shed, the sound echoing. Louis jumps from it, gasping. His heart’s beating so fast but he doesn’t know if he can run. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

If Louis were to scream Harry’s name he wonders if he’d come in time. He doesn’t think he would. He regrets ever saying that Zayn wouldn’t win in a fight. 

When the shed stops shaking and Louis does too, he registers Zayn’s words. _I was there_. And he puts the pieces together. 

It comes out weak when he says, “You’re the taxi driver.”

Zayn shuts his eyes at the words, as though that's what hurts him the most. When he meets Louis’ gaze, there’s nothing but sadness in his expression. It doesn’t stop Louis’ fear. He knows how great of an actor Zayn’s been so far. 

“I was driving.” He admits. Louis doesn’t change. “But that’s not…” He swallows, then edges forward slightly, almost like he’s pleading. “Louis, I was your best friend—“

“No.” Louis says immediately, shaking his head.

“We we’re best friends—-“

“No.”

“Ever since we were five—“

“No.”

“Louis, what they told you was fake—“

“ _No_!” He finds his voice, the word coming out with newfound force. It shocks Zayn enough to shut him up and Louis feels weak as tears trail down his cheeks. The article is squished in his fist. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get out. 

He sees the way Zayn stands there, folding in on himself, looking small. He looks defeated. Good. Louis walks towards him and Zayn makes no move to stop him, just standing there with his head down, face unreadable. 

Louis releases the article onto the floor and before he walks passed him, he whispers, shaky but stern, “Stay _away_ from me.”

Afraid that Zayn could turn on him any minute, he heads towards the house quickly. He bolts in through the back door and once Harry catches sight of him he’s standing up immediately, shooting him questions. But Louis doesn’t reply, just wipes his nose angrily against the sleeve of his pyjamas and tells him to pack up the rest of their stuff. 

They leave the house in a rush, pushing everything into the car, Harry in a hectic state. Louis sits in the passenger seat, ready to go. He doesn’t want to think about it, tries not to think about it, but these fucking _tears_ won’t stop coming down and Harry’s not fucking _here_. 

He looks towards the house and finds him on the decking. Zayn’s there, too, entire demeanour the same as when Louis left him and he’s not replying to Harry at all. Louis reaches over into the driver’s seat and winds down the window in frustration. 

“Harry!” He yells, which makes Harry turn and Zayn flinch. “Let’s _go_ , okay?”

Harry says one last thing to Zayn that’s inaudible and then eventually he’s starting the car. They begin to drive away and Louis makes the mistake of looking back, seeing the dejectedness of Zayn becoming further and further away. 

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the seat, desperately willing for the image of Zayn’s heartbroken face to disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... i'm sorry
> 
> posting will resume after next week. love u all.


	15. PART THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another reminder to make sure ur resting ur eyes if ur reading this in one go! i love u thanks for sticking by :~) x

_Zayn_

They eventually leave Zayn’s line of sight. 

It’s early morning and the sky’s so fucking bright it makes his eyes hurt. The birds chirp happily around him, mocking him, and Zayn stands there on his porch without movement, the car nowhere to be seen or heard. 

He’s gone. 

It should make Zayn crumble, should make him hunch over and cry, maybe. Should make him scream a little, kick something, talk to someone. But Zayn stands there on his porch without movement and the car is nowhere to be seen or heard. 

He had a plan, is the thing. He slept with Louis by his side last night, waking up in intervals just to make sure he was still there. And he’d made a plan. He was to get out of the house early, before Louis woke, and get him something that says ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I care for you.’ He’d been terrible at showing it, he figured, and flowers from Rosa’s garden seemed to be the perfect gesture. 

He was to find Louis, was to take him aside, alone, and surprise him with it. He doesn’t know how Louis would have reacted, _hates_ that he doesn’t know how Louis would’ve reacted, but whichever way it was, Zayn would deal with it. And then he would tell him.

He’d say, “You know how I told you about that friend I had in Doncaster?”

And Louis would reply, “The one that’s preventing you from going back?”

“Yeah.” Zayn would nod. “That one. Well, me and that guy—“

“William.” Louis would correct him, grinning, half from mischievousness, half from the giddiness of showing off his knowledge. 

And Zayn would laugh, probably. Out of nervousness, out of uncontrollable affection. “Yeah, him. We were friends since we were five. We were really close, the closest person I ever had. And then, two years ago, I, like, I fucked it up big time.”

He imagines Louis sniffing the flowers, then shrugging with a, “Everyone fucks up sometimes.”

“But this was... I still feel— The guilt never leaves me.” He’d settle on, and he’d watch as Louis’ face turns serious, placing his entire attention to him. “We were at a park.”

Then Zayn would explain everything. Exactly how the night happened. He doesn’t know how much he’d be able to say without letting emotion interfere, but he likes to think it all comes out there and then. He’d say that his friend was injured yet he, himself, left the scene barely damaged. 

“What happened to him?” Louis would whisper, “Is he— Did he die?”

Zayn would shake his head, then suck in a breath. This would have been the moment it all would change. “No. He survived. But he was placed in a coma for three weeks and now suffers from memory loss.”

And Louis’ reaction could have gone one of three ways. 

One; he’d have raised his brows to his hairline in disbelief, and inhaled sharply, “Wow.” He’d say. “That’s… That’s exactly what happened to me, Zayn. Why are you telling me this?” 

Two; “Are you fucking serious, Zayn? Are you having me on right now? Is my condition a _joke_ to you?”

Three; he’d have pieced it together instantly, his demeanour changing significantly, and time would have froze. “Fuck. It's me, isn't it?”

But it didn’t go any of those ways. 

It ended with tears and cut off explanations and no progress at all. It ended with the last words spoken between them a warning, an undisguised threat with Zayn never seeing him again. It ended with Louis being scared of him, looking at Zayn like he was a predator, refusing to hear anything because Zayn had forgotten about the one item he had with Louis’ face on it. 

He found the article one morning in the city, two days after he left Doncaster. After waking up in his car, he peed in the public toilets nearby and found the newspaper left on a park bench. He opened it in hopes to find job opportunities. On the sixteenth page he saw it. It was the news story printed on the bottom half of the page. A picture of the crash, a picture of Zayn, a picture of Louis. 

It was at that moment Zayn realised he didn’t have any photos of Louis at all. After throwing out his old phone he didn’t have anything else, and so he tore the page, not bothering to read it, and folded it into the back pocket of his jeans. 

And now Louis’ gone. This time for good. 

 

_Louis_

They drive for about five minutes in silence before Louis talks.

His mantra of _don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it_ had fallen on deaf ears inside his head, his brain refusing to co-operate and instead playing a repeated loop of Zayn’s fallen face over and over again. 

Harry hasn’t dared to open his mouth the whole time. Louis sits there, sniffing away tears that somehow don’t stop and Harry drives without a word, his shoulders in a tense line with his teeth not so subtly gnawing at his bottom lip. He probably thinks Louis doesn’t notice, but Harry glances him at least once every ten seconds, alarm written in his expression like he’s worried Louis’ going to burst or open the car door and fall out the side. 

That would be funny, wouldn’t it? Maybe then Zayn’s sadness wouldn’t be a constant in Louis’ thoughts. 

But, yes, they’ve been driving for about five minutes in silence before Louis talks. 

“I’ve spent about two weeks total with that guy. With him. And I don’t even know his real name.”

Harry stops his teeth to his lip. He’s looking around wearily, unsure. Then, he supplies, in the most unhelpful and monotone voice ever, “It’s Zayn.” 

Really, Louis should’ve stayed quiet. 

He rests his eyes against his hand and scrunches up his face. When he pulls back, it’s wet, and it somehow makes him irritated. “Oh, please. It is _not_ ‘Zayn’, how can you _say_ that? We don’t know anything about the guy!” 

Harry stays silent. His chest rises and falls significantly but offers nothing else as a response. 

Louis looks out his window and licks his teeth, his blood boiling. “I mean, like, who just has something like that hanging up in their backyard shed? Who has that, and keeps it there when they’ve _met_ the person in the fucking article and _pretends_ that they were.. _involved_ somehow? He said we were _best friends_ , Harry. Best friends! Like, are you serious? I’m quite sure if we were as good as friends as he thinks we were, you or Liam or Niall would have picked up on that, don’t you think? Like, is he a stalker or something? Has he been following me from afar all this time?” 

His voice chokes off at the end and he covers his mouth with his fingertips. He feels another surge of tears surfacing and he swallows it down, shaking his head. He looks down at his lap and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s an idiot. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“Pretty hard to stalk someone two and a half hours away.” 

Louis perks his head up instantly at that and zeros his eyes in on his friend. Harry clenches his jaw uncomfortably and doesn’t meet Louis’ gaze. He looks at him sceptically, “Are you on his side, then?” 

Harry lets out a groaned sigh, “No, I—“ 

“Then why aren’t you freaking out about this like I am? It’s fucking _weird_! Is it not? Please tell me if it’s not, Harry. I’d love to know if I’m overreacting.” 

“Okay, yes, it’s weird. It is. But I just… I don’t think you should jump to conclusions.” 

“ _Conclu_ — Harry!” Louis frowns and shifts in his seat so he’s facing him, “This _stranger,_ who, by the way, we’ve never _met_ before _,_ has a picture of me — _solely_ of me — hanging up in his shed! What else am I gonna do _except_ jump to conclusions?” 

“Erm…” Harry stalls, blinking profusely. He struggles to find his words. “I mean, I… I probably would’ve talked to him about it?” 

“Ha!” Louis says, sitting further back into his seat. He imagines Harry being in his position. He’d probably be still there, in shock, staring at ‘Zayn’ bug-eyed and not knowing what to do. “It’s because he’s attractive, isn’t it? The reason why you’re so blasé about it. If it had been a creepy old lad you’d have a completely different view about it, wouldn’t ya?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, just perches his elbow against the window and rests the side of his face on his knuckles. “The guy had gotten me _flowers_ for god’s sake. If I hadn’t found that bloody picture I would’ve…” He sighs, lowers his voice to a whisper at the realisation, “ _Fuck_ , I would’ve fallen for him so easily.” 

And Harry’s eyes bulge out of his head, “ _What_?” 

Louis looks at him, disgusted. “Oh, and _that’s_ what you react to? C’m _on,_ Styles, honestly _.”_ He turns back to the window, “And yes, ha-ha, I would’ve fallen in love with my stalker. A psychopath, probably.” He sniffs and wipes his nose angrily, “I mean, _god._ I’m just so mad at myself that I didn’t see it sooner. What twenty-something year old lives all alone out in the middle of nowhere, anyway?” 

“You liked Zayn.” Harry says softly.

“Wha— yes? Of course I liked _whoever_ the fuck that guy is.” He scratches at his stubble and tries to clear his throat but the golf ball lodged in there doesn’t seem to want to move. “My taste is impeccable, as always. But let’s move on to, let’s say, the more pressing matters at hand, shall we? Such as my own personal safety? ‘Cause quite frankly I’m feeling insanely unprotected right now, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“I think maybe you should steer away from the psycho thoughts. I don’t think he’s like that. I think you might have it all wrong. He… He seems like a cool dude.” 

Louis pulls a face and feels his chest constrict, “‘ _A cool dude_ ’? Harry _,_ what the fuck? You’ve known him for, like, less than three days and you’re already defending the guy?” Louis moves his body away from him, curling up to the car door. “Excellent.” He mutters. “Bloody grand.” 

“I’m not—” Harry cuts himself off with a frustrated groan. He breathes harshly out of his nose and Louis notices how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. “I’m not defending him. I just think there’s two sides to every story.” 

There’s emotion clear on Harry’s face, but Louis doesn’t stop. “Story of what, do you think? Of _Criminal Minds_? Because let me tell you, as soon as I call the police and investigate, tv shows are gonna be—"

“ _Louis_. Just…” He sighs, then finally looks at him. His eyebrows are pulled together, pleading. There’s worry etched in his face and something that also looks hurt. Louis eyes him up and down. Maybe Harry’s stressed after all. “Stop. Please.” He looks back to the road and adds, almost as an afterthought, “and call Niall.” 

“…Niall?” 

“Yes. Call him and say that Harry said we’re all gonna meet at his house to talk.” 

“About this?” Louis says with a frown, but proceeds to take his phone out slowly from the bag at his feet. “To talk about what we’re gonna do to that son of a bitch?” 

Harry swallows harshly “Yes, about this.” 

And so Louis shrugs and pulls up Niall’s number. As it rings, Louis inspects Harry’s face once more and observes the stress lines on his forehead, the tenseness of his entire body, the fear in his eyes. Louis slinks further down into his seat.

“Ayo!” Niall greets, voice faraway like he’d put the phone on speaker. 

“Hiya, Niall.” Louis greets, annoyed at himself when his voice comes out croaky. “Where are you?”

“Lou? Y’alright? Are you with Harry?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” He glances at Harry, watches as he goes back to biting his lip. “And yeah, with him. He wanted me to call you. Something…” Louis pinches the space between his eyes, “Something happened and he wants us all to meet at yours to talk about it.”

“Something?” Niall asks, voice turned serious. He sounds closer, like the phone’s pressed to his ear now. “Shit. What?”

“I’ll explain later. We’ve left Hillside, coming back now.”

There’s a moments pause. Then, “Yeah, okay. Shit.” On Niall’s line, it sounds like he’s moving around, walking fast. “Alright. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Louis breathes, “Yeah.”

The line goes dead and Louis finds himself staring at his phone. 

“All good?” Harry asks, voice not his own. 

Louis nods. “Yeah, all good.” He presses a finger daintily on the window, watching as it slides down the glass. “Hope _they_ take my side.” He mutters.. 

 

_Zayn_

Outside looks like a crime scene.

The door to his shed is wide open. The article is on the floor, scrunched up in a ball. There’s a bouquet of flowers spilt on the ground, looking tragic. 

There’s a heavy feeling in Zayn’s gut. He wishes he could pinpoint the feeling, wishes he could relieve it like a massage to a headache. He wishes he could hit reverse, go back and do it again; the day, two weeks ago, two years ago, his entire life, maybe. Imagine if he hadn’t met Louis. Imagine if they’d never met. 

Zayn looks at his backyard. It used to be his place of comfort. Now he looks at it and all he can taste is the sick that’s formed in his throat, can see where Louis stood, eyes wide and afraid. Can hear how his voice trembled, shaky.

His whole life Louis had always been the brave one. When they met they were five and Zayn had been sitting on the bench at the playground. One of the boys who used to tease him in class had come over and started again, laughing at how Zayn had cried when his dad left him for the day. Out of nowhere, the kid ended up face down in the grass, and Louis had stepped on the bully after he’d flown down the slide and knocked him over. 

Zayn could’ve never done something like that.

He had never seen Louis show anything but strength and confidence in everything he did. It was how he held himself, how he spoke. His voice never wavered and he never let his guard down. 

Until today. 

He picks up one of the flowers from the ground and twirls the stem between his fingers. Harry had spoken to him on the porch before they left but Zayn can’t remember the words. It was coming at him like muffled sounds, almost blurred by his ears, unable to process. He thinks he might have been asking him what happened, what was wrong. He also thinks he might have tried to persuade Zayn to talk to Louis, to figure it out together. He doesn’t know.

He lets the flower drop and he steps inside the shed. He picks up the article on the ground and unfolds it. He looks at Louis’ picture, a school photo of him when he was seventeen. His hair was longer, then, covering his eyes and without product. He remembers seeing Louis again, here, remembers noticing how much he changed. 

_“Hey, good to finally meet you.”_

He scrunches up the paper in his hand, mimics the way it feels around his heart. He walks over to his desk, reads the lyrics he so pathetically wrote. Reads how many lines were for Louis. 

_“They’re a bit lucky, then, aren’t they? ‘Cause that’s simply beautiful. Really, it is. Is it a poem? A song? You’ve got a talent, Zayn, honest—“_

Zayn pushes all the papers off his desk, as well as Louis’ discarded tea, and hears the weight of it hit the floor. He rips some up, pieces of paper decorated by the now cold, auburn coloured liquid. Unfinished pieces, favourite pieces, pieces that he’s sung countless times. He destroys it between his hands, lets the remains fall in a heap, completely useless. 

_“I’m really, like, genuinely thankful we sorta became amicable by the end, there. Sort of made this whole stay worth it, y’know?”_

Zayn eyes up the pin board. It only takes a second before he’s taking it off it’s hinges and throwing it out of the shed, letting it hit the grass. It’s loud, the wood hitting the dirt. He wonders if his neighbours can hear it, if they care. 

_“To be fair, I was kinda hoping I’d wake up next to you,”_

He picks up his music stand, tosses it out, lets it join the board and flowers. 

_“We’d be awful, Zayn. But in the good way.”_

He rolls out the desk chair and it catches on the lip of the concrete, falls onto the grass without force. He picks up his guitar. 

_“Stay_ away _from me.”_

He smashes it onto the floor. 

The bottom of it breaks and a string snaps off. His vision starts to become blurry but those last four words circle his head like birds of a dizzy cartoon and he can’t shake it. He hits the ground with his guitar again, the neck cracking and the head of it breaking underneath him. He throws it but his arms are weak and it doesn’t go far — just falls where the rest of his destruction lays and he considers laying with it, too. 

Instead, he kneels down, head in his hands, and weeps. 

_

It’s some time before he starts walking again.

He leaves his cigarettes at home, starts to walk without them. He doesn’t know what he looks like. He’s cried, he’s probably red around his eyes and nose, puffy and pitiful. But he strolls alone, doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t want to look at Frank’s house and remember how hard he and Louis laughed when Niall got scared. Doesn’t want to pass Carlos’ and see the table Niall, Louis and Zayn sat at through the window. He doesn’t want to glance at Mary’s, knowing she may have seen Harry skip around in the nude. He doesn’t want to look at Rita’s garden, a memory of the flowers she snipped specifically for him and afraid that she might ask how it went. 

He doesn’t look up. But it’s because of this, that he bumps into someone. 

Anthony and Randy are outside the bar, neither of them talking. Randy looks at him with concern, perplexed in his expression. Anthony looks him up and down, looking as though he’s torn between apologising or questioning him. 

Zayn saves him the decision and mumbles a, “Sorry,” before attempting to slide passed him. 

“Whoa, Zayn.” Anthony calls, and then Zayn feels his hand touch his shoulder to steady him. In any other case, Zayn would have shrugged it off and kept walking. But Zayn allows him. “Dude, are you okay?”

Zayn’s eyes flicker to Randy as he enters the bar. He looks at Anthony, and says the one thing that comes to mind. “I won’t be able to perform anymore.”

Anthony stays silent for a second or two, processing his words. He sort of looks like he’s waiting for more, as though he assumes this is the only reason why Zayn looks like he’s carrying his own personal raincloud above his head. 

“Oh.” Anthony settles on, looking to the side. “Okay.” He juts his lip out. “Are you, like, moving? Or…?”

“I broke my guitar.”

His voice sounds off. There’s no emotion to it; it’s dull, detached. 

“What, like a string—?”

“I picked it up and smashed it on the ground.”

He says it almost to certify it in himself. It doesn’t feel real, almost. This whole day doesn’t feel real and he needs someone to tell him it isn’t. He wouldn’t break his guitar. It’s not something he’d do. 

Anthony just stares at him. “You smashed on the ground.”

“Yes.”

“And you— you’re okay with that?”

Zayn shrugs.

“That’s… Um. Well.” Anthony’s hand drops from Zayn’s shoulder and he steps back a bit. “Did you, like, did you wanna talk about something? Is everything… okay?”

“Not really, no.”

“Shit. Alright.” He looks completely out of his depth, shuffling on the spot and not knowing where to place himself. “You realise you won’t be able to pay rent now, right? That was your only way… God, Zayn, why did you do that?”

Zayn sees the disappointment in his neighbour’s eyes, sees the way he wants to grab Zayn by the shoulders and shake him slightly, if he has to. He also sees the way he wants to hug him, maybe, and tell him that everything will be okay. But they’re not like that, him and Anthony. And Zayn doesn’t want a hug. 

“I don’t know.” Zayn answers truthfully. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

_

  
Once back at his house, he figures he has to assess the damage sometime. He swings open the front door and it’s completely barred from life. It’s even emptier than before, somehow. It’s almost like the livelihood has been sucked out of it completely, leaving it dark and eerie, yet traces of it still remain.

There’s still finished cans of beer all huddled together in the corner of his kitchen counter. There’s dirt marks on the bottom cupboards from where Louis had knocked his feet whilst they sat on the counter at night, waiting for the rest of the boys to return. Zayn walks through, and he enters his bedroom. The bed’s made, something Louis must have done before going outside, and Zayn almost just wants to mess it up, destroy it completely. 

Instead, he lies down in it, and breathes in.    
  


_Louis_

“What the fuck?”

Harry and Louis had an uneventful car ride after the phone conversation with Niall. It consisted of Louis recovering, (he had _liked_ Zayn, okay? He had a reason to sulk) and Harry unreasonably stressed. 

When they arrived at Niall’s, Liam’s car was already parked out the front and Harry had almost jumped out as though he were in a rush. It set off Louis’ skepticism immediately, side eyeing Harry from the moment they got out of the car to opening up the front door. 

From there, things got weird. Or weird _er_ , he should say. It’s definitely been the weirdest day of his life. 

Niall and Liam greeted him overly nice, complete with hugs and smiles and nothing at all what Louis had needed. He supposes it was to make him feel better, since Niall had known something bad happened. But they had sat him down in Niall’s living room, getting him tea in Niall’s expensive China and somehow avoiding the problem at hand however they can. 

Niall kept asking him if he needed anything, anything at all, and Liam had been the most chatty Louis’ ever seen him, meanwhile Harry had lingered by the fireplace looking at though he were seconds from self-combustion. 

So, yes:

“What the fuck?”

“—Er,” Liam says, his previous conversation cut off. “What?”

“I said, what the fuck?” Louis repeats, frowning. “Why do you all look like you’ve shat your pants and are hiding it?”

Niall laughs out loud. His eyes are scared. 

“Did you want another?” He asks, already taking the unfinished tea from Louis’ hands and rushes off. Louis looks at Liam, who’s pretending to be interested in the curtain behind Louis’ head. Louis looks at Harry, who’s still seconds from self-combustion. Niall comes back, fresh tea in the cup, and places it next to Louis on the side table. “There y’go.”

“Great.” Louis strings out the word. He lets it settle, sipping his tea, then realises nobody else is making a move to talk. “So, now that we’re done playing house, can I know what the fuck is going on?”

“Zayn’s telling the truth.” Harry blurts out, like he’s unable to help it. As soon as he does, though, his eyes widen and he clasps a hand over his mouth.

Niall shoots daggers at him, “Are you well, mate?”

“Sorry!” Harry defends. Liam looks stunned. “But you try sitting in a car with him for two and a half hours without saying anything, Niall.”

“Harry,” Liam says, measuredly, “Why did you call it today? Why now? What happened?”

“He found an article.” Harry tells him, voice lower. “Of him. In Zayn’s shed.”

“Er, hello?” Louis says, clearing his throat. “I _am_ right here, lads.” He gets all eyes facing him, but he locks his own with Harry, and points. “And you’ve been trying to make me believe he is who he says he is. Is this what this is all about, then? A big group conversation for you all to convince me?” They all look at him blankly. “I really didn’t think you all liked him that much, but,” He leans back into the chair and places his ankle over his knee, “Please, carry on.”

“Okay.” Harry says after a moment. He blinks a couple of times, and almost looks nervous, “I… Well, _we_ —“

“Louis.” Liam says, interrupting Harry and taking the reigns. The relief on Harry’s face is almost enough to make Louis laugh. He doesn’t, though, and something inside him tells him he won’t be. “I’m just gonna rip the band-aid off, now. Get straight to the point. There’s no point going around it since you always like things flat out. No bullshit or beating around the bush—“

“ _Alright_ , Liam. Jesus. Who knew you could fluff on about not fluffing on?”

“Right.” Liam says, twirling his fingers together. He swallows thickly, then looks straight at Louis. “We’ve known Zayn for as long as we’ve known you.”

The words make his stomach swoop. He thinks he gets goose bumps but he’s not sure. He dismisses it all. 

“ _Riiight_ ,” He sing-songs, deadpan, “And I’m six foot seven.”

Niall’s head lols back, a groan coming from the back of his throat. He covers his face with his hands. “He’s not gonna believe us. This is shit. We’re doing this shit.”

“We weren’t prepared for this. Zayn said he was gonna tell him.” Harry argues.

Louis scrunches up his nose, “ _Zayn_ said?” He lets out a gush of air. Because that’s realistic. “You’re all horrible pranksters, you know that, right? I admit, I’ve done some pretty nasty shit to you guys in the past which might warrant this, but kicking someone when they’re down is terrible prankster etiquette, I gotta say.” He places the tea cup down on the table and stands up from his chair, “So, this has been _lovely_ , but I’m fucking exhausted.”

Liam rushes forward, blocking Louis’ path. His hands come up to rest on his arms and he looks at Louis with a certain type of earnest that makes Louis freeze. “I know this sounds… _insane_ , but I promise you this isn’t a prank or a joke or _anything_. It’s serious, Lou. I swear. I promise.”

“It’s the truth.” Harry adds. “We’re trying to tell you what’s real.”

It’s then, that Zayn’s voice pops into his head. “ _Louis, what they told you was fake_.“

He breathes. It comes out shallow. 

“His name is Zayn Malik.” Niall begins, words slow. They go through Louis’ ears like waves, knocking into his brain and leaving him dizzy. “He went to school with us. We were all close friends but you and Zayn were always closer.”

“Ah,” Louis manages, a smile forming on his face. He struggles to accept it. Doesn’t know if he _wants_ to accept any of it. “So,” He lets out an empty laugh, then licks the top row of his teeth before pressing his fingers to his forehead, “You’re honestly — honest to God — telling me that _that_ man,” He points outside of the house blindly, “Was, what? The driver who put me in a coma? And that he was…” He stops, his voice beginning to sound strangled. “That he was actually my friend? No, scratch that, _our_ friend?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes, looking distraught. 

Louis looks to Niall and Liam and they’re all mirroring the same expression. He feels his own chest rise and fall, places his hands into tight fists. 

“Then why didn’t you fucking tell me, huh?” Louis asks but it’s silent, barely moving passed his teeth. “If this is all true, why didn’t any of you tell me.”

“That was Zayn’s decision—“

“ _Zayn’s_ decision?” Louis steps closer to all of them. “Why his? Tell me. Why would it be his decision to determine whether I get to know about what happened in my life or not?” Louis clenches his jaw, “He left. He made his decision.”

“He had no other choice but to leave.” Liam tries. Louis deflates and turns away from him, shaking his head. Right now, nothing seems real. “I know he didn’t want to. And we couldn’t tell you about him, either. Zayn was supposed to tell you. He told us he was going to.”

And Louis laughs. “He told you.” He flops down onto the chair and doesn’t look at anyone in particular when he says, “And I suppose all of you just had to pretend you didn’t know each other the whole time, then? While I was right fucking there?” He watches how all their faces remain unchanged as he picks up the tea and drinks it down. It doesn’t help him, his gut still sinks to the floor. Once he places it back and nobody has said a word, he lets out a sigh and leans back further into the chair. “Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Would you like a Golden Globe? A fucking Oscar?”

“Louis…” Harry pleads. 

“What.”

“We didn’t—“ Harry bites his lip, “It’s not our fault.”

“Then who’s is it? Because it’s definitely not mine.” Then the three boys exchange a look. Louis digs his fingers into the sofa. “Well?”

“In terms of us not being able to tell you about him and…” Niall looks to each of them, unsure whether to proceed or not. Louis’ sure he’s thrown a spear in the middle of Niall’s forehead from how hard he’s looking at him, so he continues. “And in terms of him actually leaving, uh, well. It—it’s your mum, Lou. Your mum’s fault, actually.”

Louis stops moving. “What does she have to do with this?”

“She had the best intentions, really.” Harry reassures, hand held out. “Don’t get mad at her.”

With eyebrows shot up, Louis pins him with a look. “Oh, you are _not_ in a position to tell me who I am and who I’m not allowed to get mad at, here.”

Harry drops his gaze immediately, “You’re right. I— sorry.”

Louis lets out a forced sigh, combing his fingers through his hair. “So. Keep explaining, go on.”

“I… We don’t really want to go into it because I feel like that’s her thing to explain.” Liam tells him. Louis’ frown gets deeper. “But she basically,” He clears his throat, gestures with his hands lamely, “She basically gave Zayn an ultimatum when it happened. When he got better and you didn’t.”

Louis waits, but nothing more comes. “…Which was?”

Liam licks his lips quickly. “Which was to either stay here and get locked up or leave and don’t come back.”

Staring back at him, Louis lets the words process. Then he’s leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Jesus.”

Around him is silence. Inside him is fury. He can’t think at all, everything coming at him at once, allowing no time to sort out or contemplate anything that’s just been said. He thinks about all the times he saw Zayn and the other boys lock eyes, all the times Zayn had tried to push Louis away, and he feels sick with it. But, most prominently, he thinks about how Louis had spoken to him today. And how Zayn was telling the truth. 

“We’re sorry, Louis.” Harry whispers. 

“You let me believe he was only a stranger.” Louis says, head still in his hands. “ _None_ of you told me.”

“Because we couldn’t—“

“Oh, bull _shit_.” Louis looks up, pulling his brows together. “You didn’t sign a fucking contract, did you? I’d assume not, yeah? I — Look, okay, yeah, I get why it wasn’t explained to me because he’d already left, but I met him again. You _saw_ him! You all did!” He laughs, stands as he does so. “You all looked Zayn in the eye and _convinced_ me none of you knew him! D’you know how shit that must’ve made him feel? No wonder he was so fucking anxious!” He folds his fingers together as his palms rest at the back of his neck, “D’you know how stupid you’ve made _me_ feel?” He adds, softer. “Like, jesus, how fucking oblivious am I?” 

“You’re not oblivious.” Niall says. “How could you have known?” 

Louis rubs his hands over his hair and down his face, looks towards the ceiling. When they fall off his chin they dangle by his sides. “God, is that all, though?” He starts, his feet moving. He feels a fire burn in his chest. “Is that it? Is there anything else people are hiding? Anyone else taking advantage of my memory loss to lie and deceive me of my life beforehand?” He chuckles, pressing his fingers into his pyjama pants enough to bruise his outer thighs. “Like, do I have a brother I don't know about? Are you guys actually my long-term friends or just well-paid actors? Is my name actually Louis? Or is this really just a made-up fairytale where I'm somewhat protected and lied to constantly to avoid another fucking brain injury?”

“Louis,” Harry treads carefully, “Maybe you should sit back down—“

“No!” Louis says, his feet stopping. “This is fucking _insane_ , do you not realise that? Zayn’s known me this _whole_ fucking time and didn’t let one word of it slip. Not _one_ word!” He feels his face burning up, his body rigid. “He even tried multiple times to push me away since he was _told_ to stay away because of… What, some _plan_ my mum put in place?” Louis holds back a sob and rolls his lips together as he does so. “I screamed at him. And then _I_ told him to stay away. The fucking… car accident wasn’t even his fault.” Louis turns back to the chair. “And now it’s all gone to shit. All because of some _stupid_ ,” He kicks the chair, feels it burn through his toes, “Fucking,” He picks up the first thing he sees, “Plan.”

He tosses it. The tea cup hits the wall opposite him in full force. He hears three gasps behind him as it shatters into pieces. Louis breathes heavily, defeated, and looks at the broken China on the floor.


	16. Chapter 16

_Louis_

Looking at his house now brings a sickness to his gut. He’s not sure if it’s even left him since this morning, actually, but it weighs on him thicker the more he walks. 

Yes, he walked. He walked from Niall’s house to his own. He’d been offered many rides, many times, from his so-called ‘ _friends_ ’, but Louis refused. Absolutely refused. He can’t ever think of a time where getting into a car has done him any good so far. 

And so he walked with the chilliness of the air whipping passed his nose despite the sun in the sky and he digs his hands in his pockets with clenched fists. 

He lets himself dwell on the sorrow that is his life, lets himself mourn for the life he once supposedly had. If an existential crisis was on the cards at some point, that point is now. There’s never a good ending with second-guessing everything he once knew. All it does is create more questions and light up a firework display filled with anxiousness and unsettledness that he’s never felt before. And he once woke up in a hospital without an idea of who he was. 

So, there’s that. 

But looking at his house now also brings a sense of determination. He may have endless questions that duplicate the more he’s alone with his thoughts, but within this house lies a person with answers to at least some of the more pressing queries at hand. 

It’s with great relief that he finds the house empty, bar his mum sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea in one hand and a magazine in the other. She hears him instantly, and her face lights up, happy he’s finally home. He believes his own face isn’t so kind, and she picks this up as soon as he enters, her face automatically bypassing confusion and settling straight on sheepish. 

Louis leans his hip against the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “How’s Trisha Malik?”

The question lingers for only a mere second before the initial shock subsides and Louis’ mum lets her eyes fall to the table. She nods, like she was expecting it, and places her cup down.

“He told you.”

“No, actually.” He says with a laugh. It comes out startled, almost hysterical. He doesn’t know what he expected when he dropped the bombshell that he knew. But this level of nonchalance makes him irritated. “That would’ve been one of the _better_ case scenarios. Did you really think covering this up would’ve worked?” She audibly sighs and Louis blinks upwards towards the ceiling, “It’s like I’m in an episode of _Gossip Girl_ , I mean, honestly.” 

“Louis, sit down.” She tells him, voice calm, unnerved. 

Louis frowns deeply, “Uh, _no?_ I think I’m fine here—“

“Louis,” His mum repeats, firmer. She pins him with a look, “Sit.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment or two, and although Louis likes to think of himself as one of the most stubborn people on the planet, she undoubtedly takes first place in that department, and he _is_ only merely his mother’s offspring, after all. So he caves with a groan and pulls out a chair opposite her. Once seated, her gaze is back on the table, and Louis thinks she’s trying to put her thoughts in order. 

Slowly, she starts to talk.

“I know you think I’m the villain in this situation,” She begins, but doesn’t leave room for a reply, “And it very easily comes across that way. But what happened, Louis? What did the boys tell you, exactly?”

“That Zayn and I were best friends. That he was the one driving at the time. That you gave him an ultimatum and he chose to leave.” Louis explains, then leans back into the chair, crosses his arms over his chest and lets out a snort,“Which, by the way, don’t exactly blame him.”

Her eyebrows rise, “Well,”She says with a surprised smile as she readjusts her position, as though getting herself prepared with the onslaught that’s about to arrive in her direction. “They’ve been nice in the way they’ve told it, then.” 

And, hang on. “ _Nice_?” Louis questions, brows furrowed. “That’s the ‘nice’ version? Shit, mum, what on earth did you do?”

“You said you don’t blame him for wanting to leave instead of going to jail.” His mum reaffirms, looking at Louis in the eye, “And that’s what I thought he’d pick, too. It’s what anyone would pick.” She pauses, shakes her head, “But not Zayn.” Her voice lowers. “He told me he’d go to jail.” She swipes a thumb down her mug, inspecting it, “I think he even said he’d be willing to go. As though he wanted to. He had _so_ much guilt, Zayn.”

Louis doesn’t even react. His eyelids droop slightly with the revelation and he feels tired. So tired. 

“And he was classified as an adult when it all happened, so I knew the type of place he’d be going into.” She sniffs and Louis bites the inside of his cheek. “Anyway, after the accident I had lawyers from all over the city giving me their cards, asking to represent me in court. But obviously I didn’t want to take anyone to court, all I wanted was for you to get better. But they talked to me and told me the case that I had would easily win and that I could sue, that justice will be served, or whatever bullshit they were trying to sell to get me to hire them.” She takes in a breath, “They also told me, in a roundabout way, that the truck driver, as well as Zayn, would have no chance at walking free. No chance at all.”

“Shit.” Louis utters. 

“Knowing this, I couldn’t let the time come when I’d inevitably have to face Zayn and his family in court and watch him be arrested. And, so…” She bobs her head from side to side once, “I…” She clears her throat, “Forced him to leave.”

Louis blinks, “How?”

“I think I yelled at him? I’d picked up some drama skills from when you did your classes, I think.”

“Funny.”

“But, yes. I knew I was helping him short-term, but I’m still regretful of how it turned out. Mostly because Trisha and her family had to move from the neighbourhood, and because you had to continue a life without one of your friends.”

“That’s another thing,” Louis says, voice weak, “Why erase him?”

“By the time you’d woken up from comatose, the Malik’s disappeared. I have no idea where they are, even now. I don’t think anybody does. Your friends hadn’t been able to contact Zayn at all, and there was no way to find him. You’d just gone through so much trauma with your body and mind, Louis.” His mum looks towards the window, then back to him. Her eyes sad. “Bringing Zayn into the equation seemed like it would do more harm than good. And by the time you fully recovered—“

“It wasn’t even a thought.” Louis finishes for her.

“Well, when you put it that way.” She says, letting out a noncommittal laugh, the sound falling dead between them. Her words from before finally process, and Louis finds himself weighing up how he should feel. What would have been better — Zayn never leaving and being in jail for however long, or Zayn leaving and Louis being told about him, or Zayn leaving and Louis never being told about him and Zayn still being safe — and all three varieties float around in the air without an answer. “How is he, then? Is he well?”

Louis’ thoughts disappear and he blinks, his eyes unknowingly stinging from staring at one point for too long. He sniffs, then shrugs. “I — I don’t really know, to be honest. Was a bit of a dick to ‘im before I left. But also, like, I don’t know what he was like before… all this. So, he could’ve been doing terribly, and I really…. I wouldn’t know.”

His mum nods a few times, and then she’s standing. “Come with me.”

She disappears from the kitchen and Louis finds himself re-orientating. He follows her without protest, since on the spectrum of all weird things happening today, this presents very lowly. Even when he watches her pull down the stairs from the roof that leads into the attic. (Louis had forgotten that they even _had_ an attic.) 

Yet, without word, she leads him until they’re up in the crowed space and turns on a light that surprisingly works. Around him are boxes of things, old mirrors, a broken dollhouse of Daisy and Phoebe’s that they’ve long forgotten, and in the corner of it all lays a wooden chest the size of a bathtub. 

“I don’t know why,” His mum says, kneeling down beside the chest. Louis copies her, unable to stop from frowning. “But for some reason I knew you would both find your way back to each other. And so, if the time should ever come where you did, or, maybe, if we’d decided to tell you, this would be here to answer any questions, maybe.”

“Bloody hell, mum, just open it.”

And so she does, and then she sits back, allowing Louis to peer over into it. He looks at the contents of the chest, and his breath seizes in his throat. The first thing he sees is a shoebox with the word ‘photos’ written with pen. The next is another with ‘school’. There’s a CD player, too. But what makes him the most shocked, is a birthday card written from Zayn to Louis. And it quickly becomes evident to what it all is. 

He brings his fingers to the card and traces over Zayn’s handwriting, the same as the lyrics in his shed. 

“I tried to keep everything I could.” His mum says softly, “From the comic books you both used to read together to the artworks he drew you.”

It’s as though this chest contains the answers to his past, in a way, and with the bulk of everything he’s learnt to the emotional turmoil he’s endured, Louis breaks down. 

A sob wrenches from him and his mum immediately wraps him up into a hug, pressing kisses into his hair. 

_   
  


Louis calls Zayn shortly after he recovers, hoping he can reach him and see if he can apologise and then eventually take all of the items around him to Hillside so they could go through it together. But the phone keeps ringing. 

Eventually, “‘Ey it’s Zayn. M’busy, leave a message.”

Louis hangs up, then tries again. But it only rings.

“‘Ey it’s Zayn. M’busy, leave a message.”

This time, Louis finds his own voice. “Zayn, hi. It’s, er, it’s Louis. Um, call me back when you can? Okay, bye.”

He hangs up with a sigh, then with his phone clenched in his hand, taps his forehead a few times. 

There’s a terrible feeling sitting in his gut, but Louis’ grown so accustomed to it that he doesn’t react. Maybe this is a constant, now. 

_   
  


The next day is spent ignoring everyone and calling Zayn several times, still with no success at getting through to the other line. He leaves a voice message every time, even though he’s almost certain that Zayn’s not even aware that a phone makes or receives calls. 

It’s also spent in the attic, sifting through the items in the chest with an unfamiliar wave of nostalgia crashing into him every so often, even though he doesn’t know what he’s missing. He feels so misplaced, looking at photos of himself and Zayn when they were both little, up until high-school, not remembering any of it. They looked like they had a lot of fun, though, from what he gathers. 

Zayn used to draw artworks for him all the time, too. Louis’ not sure if he did the same for him (possibly not, the extent of Louis’ artistic streak starts and ends with stick figures and dicks) but there’s a pile that contains Zayn’s dating back to first year all the way until they were sixteen. Sometimes they were random — with lizards or robots or sketches of mythical creatures — and sometimes they seemed more purposeful. Some with skateboards and ones with the both of them on cartooned adventures, and in the more later years, there’s one of Louis. It’s a portrait, and on the bottom is a sticker that explains what materials were used and the size of it. When Louis flips it over, there’s a marking sheet addressed to Zayn, and an ‘A’ written with the teachers’ signature. Zayn had chosen Louis’ face as an art final. 

On the bottom is Zayn’s handwriting, “Looks like you’ve got a grade A face! :P” and Louis finds himself smiling down at it. He wishes he remembers the time Zayn gave it to him. He wishes Zayn was here to tell him. 

At the reminder, Louis dials Zayn’s number. It’s no surprise that it rings all the way through, his message bank greeting him like it has done. Louis looks down at one of Zayn’s earlier drawings that was most likely done very young, and traces over the smiling sun in the corner with his fingertips. 

“Oh, hi,” Louis says, sounding exhausted. “Just, y’know, me again. Call me back.” He pulls the phone away, then quickly wonders whether Zayn still doesn’t have his number, “Louis, by the way.”

He hangs up. He’s signed off with his name every other time, there’s no reason for Zayn to _not_ know who it is. He also wonders, though, if Zayn had become scared after their last encounter, and has decided to go completely incognito — disappearing even more so and changing his name and number. But Zayn’s phone still rings out, every time. Which means it’s still functioning, still alive. Louis just hopes Zayn is, too.

Louis immediately lets out a sound of disapproval towards his own mind. Of _course_ Zayn’s fine. He’s probably just too anxious to even glance at his phone at all, afraid. He probably thinks Louis’ setting him up. He’s probably left Hillside, gone elsewhere, and is scared that if he picks up, the police will be on the other side, tracking him down. 

_God_ , He thinks, glancing at a miniature _Power Ranger_ action-figure near his feet, _This is so fucked up_.

_   
  


He gets a visit from the boys the next day. 

It’s not like Louis’ been _avoiding_ them, per se. He’s just been declining their calls and texts and telling his mum or any other member of the family to turn them away if they show up. Okay, yes, Louis’ a coward and has literally been following the dictionary’s definition of avoid but it’s with perfectly good reason. 

They’re assholes, is the thing. They’re liars and they’re terrible. They should’ve sucked at acting. They weren’t even _good_ at drama. And that’s probably the most frustrating part about it. Louis would ask them, in his re-do graduate year, to help him play out a script and it would always end with Liam being side-tracked by a word or two, Harry getting the giggles and Niall questioning the entire scene and opting out of it the quickest he can. 

Deceitful, is what they are. And also apologetic, by the sounds of it. 

“ _Please_ , Fiz.” Harry whines at the front door.

Louis can’t see any of them, having hid in the living room once Félicité opened the door. He can see her, though, and she’s looking at the three of them with an equally sorry expression. Traitor. 

“He’s home, I know he’s home.” Liam says, confident. 

“He’s not.” Félicité says, and although it’s a terrible lie, Louis smiles proudly anyway. 

“Where is he?” Harry asks. 

“He’s close.” Niall pipes up, and audibly sniffs, “I can smell the body odour from here.”

“Pardon me?” Louis arks up. 

And it’s then, when he realises what he’s done. From the sound of his voice accidentally ruining his cover, the three boys charge through the house without mercy, Louis’ sister rolling her eyes at him as she walks away. It’s not long until Louis finds three pairs of eyes looking at him and waiting like they’re ready to burst. 

“Well done, you found me.” Louis tells them dryly, glancing at his fingernails. 

“We just wanna say how sorry we are, Louis.” Liam steps forward and Louis doesn’t know how much of his sombre expression he can take. 

“I feel awful.” Harry admits, genuine, hands clasped in front of him, “I’m so, _so_ sorry, really.”

And then Niall’s nodding, regretful, “Yeah, Lou—“

“ _Fuck_ , fine, okay.” Louis breaks, hands raised to either side of his head, palms forward. “Since when do we do apologies like this? I can only take so much soppiness at a time before I throw up, and right now I can feel the barf brewing.”

Harry scrunches his nose up in disgust while Liam pulls Louis forwards into a hug. Louis tries to struggle out of it, but only half-heartedly before he makes a show of sighing loudly and begrudgingly falling into it. He buries his face into Liam’s neck, anyway. And it feels nice. It does. Although he’ll never admit it. 

“Friends again?” Niall asks with a grin, tapping Louis’ cheek softly. 

“Trust me, Niall, if I’d have disowned any of you as a friend, you’d definitely know.”

Harry gives him an answering smile, but there’s something foggy in his eyes, and Louis’ about to ask him to spit it out when Harry says, “Have you spoken to him?”

The atmosphere shifts, but only slightly. The elephant was always in the room, but only now everyone’s acknowledging it. 

“Er, no.” Louis says, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I’ve tried to reach him but…”

Liam and Niall nod like they understand. Harry watches Louis carefully. “That’s not abnormal of him to do, you know.” He explains as though it needs to be said. “Zayn’s never easily reachable, especially after something happens.”

“S’just convenient, then, I suppose.” Louis says with a sniff, trying to get the bitterness out of his tone. 

He’d tried calling Zayn six times today, each time leaving a voicemail. Irritation’s starting to seep into his bones. 

“He’ll come around.” Liam says, eyes kind, “He has your number, knows where to reach you. He just needs a little time.”

And Louis had taken it with a grain of salt. After all, they’d know the real Zayn. 

_

  
By the forth day of being back home, Louis’ irritation has sparked into worry and a certain type of adrenaline that he can’t shake.

He’s at Harry’s house, lounging in his room while they all scroll through their phones idly. Niall and Harry chuckle every so often, stopping at funny videos and showing each other whilst Liam’s trying to do an assignment but is really only having a text conversation with this girl in one of his classes. 

And Louis finds himself bopping his knee up and down as he sits, fingertips drumming across his bottom lip as his other hand clutches his phone, arm folded over his belly. He’s looking out the window, but he’s thinking of Zayn. He hasn’t had time to think of anything else, really. The thoughts consume him and his blood is thrumming with anticipation and a sense of dread that makes him feel useless just sitting here doing absolutely fuck-all nothing. And he’s already tried calling him eight times. 

He stands from the chair before he even realises he’s doing so, and says, “I’m going.”

Harry and Niall stop mid-laugh, the video still running, and Liam looks up from his phone, “Where?”

Louis shrugs on his jacket, “To Narnia, Ian. Where else?”

He hates the way the three boys look at each other, sharing something telepathically that Louis can’t even understand. He thinks he might always be skeptical with a level of paranoia in situations like these, now, since he’d been so damn oblivious in the past. 

Harry worries his lip between his teeth as Liam and Niall look unsure. “Are you really travelling all the way back to Hillside?”

And Louis heads towards the door, “Yeah, why not?”

“Zayn, he… he likes to deal with things differently, mate.” Niall starts to say, and Louis turns to him. “If you suddenly show up at his door—“

“Look, I’m gettin’ tired of you all telling me about how Zayn apparently ‘works’, alright?” Louis interrupts, his grip around his phone subconsciously getting tighter, “I get it, you know him _so_ well, you’ve said so multiple times, yeah? But it doesn’t fucking help me at all, because the Zayn _I_ know is probably out there still just as sad as he looked when I left him. But I don’t _know_ if he is for sure because the only available form contact that I _have_ isn’t _working_.” He holds up his phone, as if to make a point, and thrusts it outwards. “I’ve called him so many times that I’ve— I’ve genuinely lost count. But his phone just keeps _ringing_ until it goes to his _fucking_ voicemail. And it happens every time. Every single time. And I leave a pathetic fucking message every single time. And… and I don’t _know_ how many messages it can hold. But I,” He swallows, feels his eyes start to sting. The lump in his throat grows bigger with every word, “I just don’t want to wait ’til the time I call, and the stupid fucking automated voice tells me that his message bank’s full. Because then that means that Zayn’s not checking them. And if he’s not fucking _checking_ them, then—“

“Hey, hey, hey.” Liam’s arms are around him instantly, petting his hair, “Lou, hey. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

Louis releases a soft cry into Liam’s shoulder, surprising himself.He digs his fingers into the fabric of Liam’s t-shirt, shaking his head. 

Liam continues to pet his hair, hold him close, “He’s fine, he’s fine, okay? I’m sure of it.”

Louis swallows thickly, “How the fuck can you be so sure?”

There’s a pause and it’s loud in his ears. Then Liam’s pulling back and wiping underneath Louis’ eyes, sympathy and uncertainty soaked in his expression, “I don’t… I don’t know. I’m sorry, Lou. I really don’t know.”

_   
  


At midnight, when Louis dials Zayn’s number for the fuckteenth time — it doesn’t ring out, and instead goes straight to voicemail. 

Zayn’s phone’s dead. Or switched off. Or not in use. Just fucking discarded and rendered useless. 

Louis’ so shocked by the instant sound of Zayn’s mumbled voice that he hesitates after the beep, mouth open. He feels a chill through his spine. He hangs up. 

Pushing through the paralysing panic, Louis stands from where he’s seated from his bed, and starts to pack.

_

  
“Why the hell are your legs so spidery, Harry?”

“Don’t blame my legs, thanks, blame the size of Liam’s car.”

“Don’t blame the car, mate, I paid a lot of money for this.”

“Well, I can’t control how much I _grow_ —“

“Alright, _shit_ ,” Louis interrupts them all, hand thrown into the middle of the car in between Liam who’s driving, and Harry and Niall who’s frowning in the backseat, “Are we five?”

Harry pouts as he looks out the window and mumbles, “He started it.”

At the same time Niall utters, lower, “Squishy as fuck back ‘ere.”

Louis just rolls his eyes at the spectacle and shifts his body so he’s facing forward. 

Truth is, he can’t blame his friends for being somewhat moody. They’d been woken up shortly after Louis’ impromptu road trip idea, each with incessant calls from Louis until they picked up, and told them they needed to leave, now. They’re still sluggish, he assumes, whereas Louis himself had been struck wide awake since the revelation that Zayn’s not using his phone at all. 

And it shouldn’t be as big as a deal as it is. But he hates the way he left things with him. He saw how Zayn looked that morning, broken. He's heard about what he had to go through — the accident, the sudden repercussions, leaving the life he knew, forced into loneliness, pretending to not know the people who once knew him best — and now he’s been left yet again because of something he had no control over. Louis has no idea how one can come back from something like that. He has no idea how someone like Zayn copes with something like that. 

And Louis has a right to be stressed. 

“Is there a way to go faster?” 

Liam’s eyebrows knead together, eyes on the road, “Louis, I’m going the speed limit.”

Louis lets out an impatient groan, “Are you _sure_ this is it, though? Maybe your speedometer’s wrong. Look, that dude across the lane’s going faster than you.”

They’re travelling on the freeway, and although it’s the middle of the night, cars still decorate the roads. And there is, in fact, a guy opposite them who’s possibly going over the speed limit. 

“My speedometer’s not wrong. And I’m not about to speed.”

“How do you know it’s not wrong?”

“Because I just bought the car!”

“You bought it two months ago, Liam, and the car’s not exactly ‘new’.”

“Doesn’t matter!”

“But would it _kill_ you to go faster?”

“Yes! It could, actually!”

“ _Fuck_ , you’re a real saint, aren’t ya?”

Louis watches the way Liam’s teeth grit together, “I’m _not_ speeding, mate, so either shut up or fuck off.”

“Fuck you.” Louis snaps back like a reflex, words almost spitting out.

What follows is complete silence, the fire of the argument lingering in the air like smoke, clouding the atmosphere. It’s then, as Louis looks out the window, and Liam’s brows don’t let up, that it’s evident just how highly strung everyone is. It’s like nobody wants to admit just how fretful and worried they are, and instead it’s coming out in tense words and emotional personas. 

“So.” Harry says, voice light and after a minute too long. “What’s the plan, exactly?”

“Yeah,” Niall tacts on, “Like, are we just gonna arrive out of the blue and expect him to welcome us?”

“If he’s there, I don’t care what he wants to do.” Louis says, words coming out without thought. When he looks down at his lap, he realises how hard he’s clenching his phone, knuckles turning white. He tries to relax. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “I just gotta see if he’s there.”

Niall leans across and a hand comes to rest firmly on Louis’ shoulder. “He’ll be there, mate.” But Louis catches the uncertainty in his tone. 

Louis also sees it reflecting in the way Liam sits at he drives, sees it in Harry’s expression as he glances at him in the rearview mirror. This weighted feeling Louis feels in the pit of his gut seems to be universal, he supposes, and realises that Niall’s words of reassurance is for himself. He rests his own hand on top, and comforts him.

_   
  


Driving through Hillside at night-time is something of a horror film, Louis notices. It’s beyond eerie, more than usual which is a feat within itself, yet some of the townies still come out of their homes, standing on the balcony peering at the ones intruding. 

It’s about two in the morning and without streetlights or lighting from within houses it’s pitch-black. Liam’s headlights illuminate the entire stretch of road, and Louis’ half-inclined to switch them off. 

“Has it always looked like this?” Niall whispers, as though he’d be heard from outside the car. 

Louis’ the first to shake his head, “No.”

They roll pass the houses slowly, staring at familiar faces who stare back, but with the darkness the townies have no idea who’s arrived. Louis should probably wind down his window and wave, reveal himself, do something. But he’s secured tightly to the chair with the help of his own fearful judgment, and the heaviness of his gut that contains a certain type of sickness grows deeper, making him dread whatever it is he’s about to find out. 

He doesn’t know what the townies will tell him. He doesn’t know what they know, doesn’t know how they feel about him now, doesn’t know if Zayn had given them any indication about where he’s gone, if he’s even still here or if he just did what he knows best and left without a word.

Liam parks outside of Zayn’s house. The first thing he notices is that Zayn’s car isn’t in the drive-way.

The four of them sit there for a moment, silent and still, and Louis takes in the porch, the front of the house, the forest on the side. He swallows harshly when he pictures Zayn’s face, standing there the last time he saw him. Louis blinks down at his hands, clenches his jaw. 

“Right,” He says with a sigh, then looks up. “Let’s see what we find, then.”

He opens the door and steps out into the cold air. He hears three other doors open and shut behind him, and Louis takes a moment to look towards the town. Interestingly, the townies that had come out to see them drive have now all gone back into their respective homes. He frowns, knowing that’s not at all how Louis remembers them being. Especially when they were usually so vibrant with newcomers. 

Is it the time of night? Could they see who they were despite the darkness? Or is Louis really not imagining the blanket of dullness and lacklustre energy that’s coated over Hillside? 

He tries not to think about whether or not it’s to do with Zayn. 

Louis clears his throat, straightens his back, and walks forward. He steps up the porch, hearing footsteps follow. He presses his knuckles lightly against the door to knock, but he notices it already slightly ajar. Louis closes his eyes and inhales deeply, preparing himself. He’s not sure what for, but his body’s tense and the feeling inside him won’t let up. 

He pushes the door further and it swings open with a slow creak. If Louis wasn’t so riddled with panic and worry, he’d be sure to have goosebumps decorating his skin. 

Stepping inside, Louis doesn’t bother to switch on the light. It’s cold and it’s empty and it looks as though nobody’s touched it since Louis left. The furniture’s all where it should be and the cans of beer are still on the bench. It doesn’t look like Zayn’s supposed to be gone. 

“Zayn?” Louis tries, but the name gets caught in his throat. He clears it and tries again, stepping in further with caution, “Zayn? You there?”

Nobody else says a word as they enter further into the house. The floorboards creak every so often and Louis can’t remember if they did that before. He timidly makes his way down the corridor while the other boys linger in the main room. 

“Zee?” Louis whispers, scratching idly at his arm, “You home?”

In the bathroom, Zayn’s shower supplies and toothbrush have disappeared.

Although they merely confirmed Louis’ suspicions, the lack of toiletries still makes Louis want to melt into the floor. If he’s not here, not at Hillside, where is he? At home? With his family? Living someplace where he doesn’t know? Louis can only hope.

He steps into Zayn’s room and the first thing he sees is the doors of the wardrobe opened. It’s completely empty bar a few coat hangers. Louis wonders how long he’s been gone for. He looks over to the bed and finds it made the way he left it, but there’s an imprint on the bed in the shape of a body. 

Louis traces the outline of it with his fingertips. He wonders whether Zayn hadn’t touched it since Louis made it, whether Zayn laid down on top, not wanting to mess it up. 

“Uh, Lou?” He hears Liam call from the rest of the house, wary. “There's— outside. ”

He follows Liam. His eyebrows are pulled together and his expression doesn’t do anything to help the clenched, tugging feeling at his gut. He leads Louis to the back door and opens it. Louis braces himself. 

When he steps out onto the porch, the loudest thing he can hear is the sound of his heart pounding until it breaks. 

The loudest thing he can see is the created destruction laid out in Zayn’s backyard. 

For a moment, time’s suspended. The weight inside him that’s been keeping himself attached to the ground becomes useless, and he feels like he’s no longer on two feet, or in his body at all. But when he comes back to it, emotion seems pointless, and he stands there with a blank expression and a blackened mind, numb. 

“D’you think…” Niall begins softly, standing on the grass with Harry, “D’you think he did this?”

As though the shed’s been folded inside out, the contents within lie broken, shredded and destroyed on the lawn. There’s nothing subtle here; the chair, the pin board, the guitar, the flowers — they’re all in a pile that Louis can only imagine was thrown after Zayn was left on his own. And Louis can’t talk. He steps down the stairs slowly, carefully, as though any harsh movements could break anything around him, all of it seeming so delicate. Up close, he sees Zayn’s guitar completely broken in several places. The one object that used to save Zayn’s sanity while he lived here. It was his _enjoyment_. Why would he destroy it?

“Could it be someone else?” Harry asks, almost rhetorical. 

Nobody gives an answer. They all know it was Zayn. Louis goes inside of the shed, sees the scrunched up article on the floor. He reaches the back, bends down before sifting through the discarded and liquid-coated ripped sheets of paper through his fingers. Words are hardly distinguishable, and Louis hates himself. 

After a while, Louis stands. He rubs at his eyes, refusing to cry. He exits the shed and sees the three boys sitting on the porch steps, all of them with glazed over eyes, staring at nothing. The gloominess in their expressions fit the scene, but Louis wants no part of it. 

“Well?” He questions, the volume level of his voice knocking them all out of their dwelling. “Anyone come to any conclusions?” 

Niall’s biting his thumb, Harry sniffs with his nose scrunched up, and Liam shuts his eyes, shaking his head. Louis blinks back his own disobedient tears and bites the inside of his lip.

“Go around and ask the townies.” Louis orders, no longer caring that his voice cracks in the middle.“‘M gonna… I’m gonna look some more.”

 _

  
It’s somewhere around three in the morning and Louis’ lying on his back on a dirt-clad ground watching the stars that shine brighter here than anywhere else. His chest hurts and his mind’s spiralling, whirling around like a tornado and Louis’ waiting to get swept up into it. 

He had taken out his phone when he realised that Zayn’s own is now more unreachable than it was before. He had laid down, brushed the tears away with the back of his hand and let the chill of the air kiss his nose. He didn’t know what to expect when he came here, looking out at the city. It was certain that Zayn wasn’t going to be hiding out in the other side of the forest, his car having mysteriously disappeared and for him to just be waiting patiently for someone to find him. It was certain, but Louis still came. 

“Where _are_ you, Zayn?” Louis whispers to the sky. “Do you even want to be found?”

The sky only answers him with a gust of wind that shake the leaves. Everything else is quiet.


	17. Chapter 17

_Louis_

The townies had reported back with nothing when the boys had asked around. Zayn didn’t leave a note, say good-bye, or gave any insinuation that he was leaving at all. 

“This is a déjà vu if I’ve ever seen one.” Liam comments, hands finding the pockets of his jeans. 

Louis runs a hand over his own face, deflated. He walks away from where they’ve huddled in the middle of the road, and groans. “So this is around the point where you gave up the first time, then?”

Harry frowns deeply, “If we created a search party, the police probably would’ve found ‘im before we did. And Jay said—“

“Yes, I know what me mum said.” Louis huffs out. He’s three seconds from crying and at this point he doesn’t know whether it’s from the loss of Zayn or exhaustion. 

“Why don’t we stay here the night, Lou?” Niall suggests, picking up on everyone’s lack of energy, “Then we’ll start bright and early in the morning. I could probably call around in the meantime, see what connections I’ve got in the city, and wherever.”

“Yeah, same.” Liam says, “With uni people.”

Louis chews on his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his stomach. “What did everyone 'round here say again? They didn’t hear anything? Are you _sure_? They might just be lying for Zayn’s sake.”

“Basically.” Niall shrugs, “Only thing that sorta made sense was when Randy told me Anthony practically kicked Zayn out—“

“He _what_?”

“He kicked— oh.” Niall says sheepishly, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his head, “Did I not mention that? Shit, mornings really fuck me these days…”

He keeps talking but Louis’ already charging forwards. He doesn’t hear anything else, doesn’t see anything else besides Anthony’s house. He hates the fact that he stayed here. He hates the fact that he trusted him. He steps up to Anthony’s door and turn turns the doorknob without knocking. 

Entering the house, Anthony’s nowhere to be seen but the light of the kitchen is on. “Anthony!” He calls, entering further into the house. 

It takes a minute, but then Anthony's exiting his bedroom, tying his dressing gown around himself with a perplexed expression on his face. “Louis?”

Louis faces him head-on, “You kicked him out?”

Anthony’s eyes widen slightly, then look to Louis’ side for help, almost. It’s when Louis realises that Harry, Liam and Niall are next to him, lingering slightly behind. 

“I didn’t!” Anthony says, running a hand through his hair. “Seriously, I didn’t kick him out. All I said was, if you don’t have a guitar then you’re not able to perform, right? And performing was his only way of keeping his rent. He had until the end of the week to come up with some sort of payment.” Anthony gestures with his hands, “And I suppose he just chose to leave early instead.”

“And, what? Is a cappella not good enough for you?”

“It was his decision!” Anthony says, “He didn’t _want_ to perform!”

Louis jerks his head back, “So you knew that and you still let him take off, did you?”

At that, Anthony sighs, looks elsewhere, “And how could I have stopped him?”

Louis scoffs, takes a step forward, “How could you have _not_ —!”

“Didn’t realise I was the dude’s _babysitter_ —“

“He’s fucking missing, you fucking _twat_ —!”

“Okay!” Liam butts in, stepping in between the two of them as though they were about to brawl. Louis still has his eyes locked on Anthony, and feels like snarling. “Time out, time out, time out.”

“Why don’t we sit down…?” Harry suggests, stepping closer to the couch. Nobody moves except for Niall, collapsing on it.

“Tell us all you know, Ant.” He says, “What’d Zayn tell ya?”

Anthony clears his throat. Liam’s arms that were extended, ready to hold either of them back, drop to his sides. Louis relaxes, if only just, and starts to walk away. 

“The last time I saw him, he was walking through the town and we bumped into each other.” Anthony begins, his voice serious but there’s a hint of nonchalance hidden there that pisses Louis off. “When I saw him, I knew something was wrong. He looked beyond vacant, like he wasn’t really there? Dunno, but when I spoke to him all he really told me was that he broke his guitar. When I asked him why, all he said was that it ‘ _seemed like the right thing to do_ ,’ whatever that means.”

Louis immediately thinks back to when Zayn drove Louis to the train station. “Thanks for driving me, Zayn.” He had said. And Zayn had shrugged, replied, “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

He also remembers their first time at the view. When Louis had asked “Why did you show me this? You’re about to push me off, aren’t you?” Remembers the laugh that Zayn had made, and how he looked at his shoes, "S’your last day.” He had shrugged, yet again. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I asked him ifhe wanted to talk about anything, obviously, because who just destroys something like that for no reason?” Anthony continues, bringing Louis out of his head. “But I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, ‘cause Zayn’s always been a weir— uh,” He coughs loudly, thrown off by the challenging rise of Louis’ brows, “Unpredictable. And he told me he wouldn’t be able to perform anymore, so I reminded him about rent, and he said he already knew all that.”

“When was this?” Louis asks. 

“Three… Four nights ago? I think? Wasn’t long after you left.” Anthony says, pointing weakly at Louis. Then something scary flashes in his expression. Louis’ stomach plummets. “Wait, did _you_ do something to him? Is that why he was so broken?”

Without thinking, Louis lunges forwards. Liam’s already there, holding him. Anger swirls in Louis’ blood, anger that doesn’t just belong to the person in front of him, but also himself. 

Then Anthony’s laughing and clasping his hands together. “Oh my god. So here you are, attacking me for not keeping him captive, when it was actually _you_ who drove him away!”

“Oi, cunt, keep your assumptions to yourself, yeah?” Niall threatens, standing from the couch. 

“Hey,” Anthony throws his hands into a surrender, “I’m not assuming anything. But it’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“C’mon, Lou.” Liam says, stroking a hand down Louis’ arm, still holding him despite Louis no longer wanting to fight. “We’ve gotten all we need from him.”

Louis nods and doesn’t chance another look to Anthony. Liam guides him out of the house with a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. Harry and Niall follow promptly behind them. As they leave, Louis feels his bottom lip quiver. He bites it to stop it.

“What a dickhead.” Harry says, emphasis on the insult. 

Niall hums in response, “There’s a dude who hasn’t had sex in a while.”

They walk silently back to the car. There’s nothing but defeat in Louis’ heart as they sit inside it. Zayn’s been gone for days and it’s because of him. He looks out into the vast road that stretches on and on. He could be anywhere. 

Liam’s hand comes up to place on the steering wheel, “So. Where—?“

But he’s cut off by the uncontrollable sob that wrenches from Louis’ body. He sits, pathetic and crying, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. 

Before anyone tries to touch him or console him with words, he speaks first. “Fuck this.” He spits, running a hand underneath his nose. “ _Fuck_ this. Someone who trashes their things and leaves at the drop of a hat isn’t… they’re not _fine_.” His throat burns as he speaks and his hands are cold to the touch. “Zayn’s not fine. He could be back with his family but none of you _know_ where that _is_. And if he’s not there then he’s out somewhere else and... alone.” He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, “He told me he doesn’t _have_ anyone else.”

He hears Harry audibly swallow from behind him, “Did he… did he say anything else? Anything about his life before here? I know he told you he used to live in Doncaster.”

Louis sniffs, “He said he once lived in the city, before here.”

“The city?” Liam asks, then taps his fingers against the steering wheel, “Alright.” He nods, “Alright. Should we go there?”

“D’you know how many people live there, Liam?” Niall says. “What are we gonna do, search blindly for days?”

Liam pivots in his chair to face Niall, irritation written clear on his face, “You tell me then, genius. What should we do?”

Niall doesn’t react to the blow. He just sits there to think and Louis wills himself to calm down. Then Niall’s clicking his fingers, “Doesn’t Lottie live there, Lou?”

“Yeah?” Louis replies, a question in his answer. She lives in just out of Mirstone, but Louis hardly thinks one more pair of eyes would be enough to catch Zayn. It’s also just after four in the morning, nobody would be picking up their phone at this time. 

Surprisingly, at that moment, Harry’s rings. 

Everyone turns to the sound, brows pinching together at the unexpectedness of it. Harry takes a while to realises it’s his own, and then contorts his face into something apologetic. He shifts his hips upwards so he can get it from the front pocket of his jeans. When he has it in his hand, he glances at the screen, and then his eyes widen comically big. 

He looks straight at Louis, “Speak of the devil.” He answers it and holds it to his ear, “Hiya, Lottie, you alright?” Louis’ frown deepens in confusion. He’s about to demand what she wants, and why she’s calling Harry instead of her own brother, when Harry’s smile drops completely. Added anxiety and worry stirs in Louis, thinking she’s in danger. But then Harry’s smile suddenly returns, pulling into a huge grin as he says, in disbelief, “No. Fucking. Way.”

_Zayn_

Pain is the first thing he feels when he comes to. 

It throbs from his head and behind his eyelids, heavy somewhere in his abdomen and significant in his neck. It’s something he’s no stranger to. Waking up with hangovers used to be easy — it used to be routine, something easily dismissible — but he’s been without one for so long and his body hates him for falling back into it. 

Before opening his eyes and allowing the light to stream through, Zayn tries to think back to the night, trying to reveal everything in sequenced order, pushing through the fuzziness. He remembers his car running out of petrol, remembers realising his lack of money to fill up and remembers leaving it at a carpark. He walked, then. He walked until he found his old apartment block; a shitty, run-down joint in the outskirts. 

He’d hope to find the new owners. The ones that they handed over to when Zayn’s and his roommate’s rent was up. It had been four days since Zayn left Hillside. He returned back to old habits quickly — living out of his car, eating cheap food, bumming cigarettes — but he also tried to look for jobs, too. He had no resumé, had no substantial previous work experience, nothing to give the employers, but he tried. It wasn’t until the fourth day when his car betrayed him just out of Mirstone, and so going back to his home beforehand seemed to be the best option. 

Luckily, it was the owners that Zayn knew. They’d welcomed him in warmly, gave him a cup of tea, told Zayn he could stay there for as long as he wanted until he was back on his feet. Zayn had been beyond grateful, promising them that he’d clean and cook and pay them back when he can. The couple went out the same night — a “ _date night_ ”, they had said, and Zayn had to swallow down a bitter laugh — and he bid them farewell while he sat at their dining table.

As soon as he had the apartment to himself, he realised he was alone. There was no constant traffic loud in his ears, no people walking by the sidewalk every so often. There’s a difference between sleeping in a car amongst it all and sitting alone surrounded by walls. If he really allowed himself to think about it, he’d think they were closing in. 

He felt suffocated. 

With twenty-three voicemails on his phone.

He heard every one. A compilation of “ _Zayn, can we talk_?”’s and “ _Please, just call me back_ ”’s and “ _It’s Louis, by the way_ ”’s that jumble up in different orders growing more and more desperate with each message. And Zayn had watched the way his phone would light up with Louis’ name, watched as it rang, just waiting until it stopped and for the message tone to sound so he could hear his voice again. 

He saved every one. Because just how the ringing stopped, Zayn knew the calls would, too. They’d dwindle away to nothing, and Zayn’s phone would become just as dry as the day he got it, and Louis will return back to his old life, one without him. 

With it on his mind, he had opened the liquor cabinet he’d been shown. He was also told “help yourself”, and so Zayn did. He started with the vodka, had it straight as he sat on the balcony and viewed the lives of others that happened beneath him. 

It happened quickly after that, he remembers. Two drinks became ten, and he had fallen asleep on the couch. Zayn briefly wonders if that’s where he is, now. But then vividly recalls being kicked out after they returned home. So. 

Zayn blinks open one eye, instantly squinting at the minimal light coming in through the blinds. What he makes out from his limited vision, is that:

  1. The place he’s found himself in is surprisingly nice, and not some dingy lot he stumbled across. And,
  2. He’s on the couch, not a bed. Which means he hasn’t woken up besides anyone.



Laughably, it makes him more confused. Because who on earth would invite him, a drunk stranger, into their home in the middle of the night if they weren’t going to sleep with him? 

He rubs a hand over his face and yawns. He sits up, cracks his neck and stretches his back and allows the time to look around. It looks like a female’s apartment, if the pink fluffy pillows, cleanliness and the faint smell of nice perfume is anything to go by. 

Half of him wants to wait until the person wakes up so he can thank them for giving him a place to rest his head for the night. The other half of him is desperate to leave so they don’t have to deal with him at all. When he stands up, he finds a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol left for him on the coffee table at the side of the couch, and also spots his shoes placed neatly at the door. 

Zayn scratches his head. Weird.

He also finds his backpack against the back of the couch as he walks around it. He picks it up and swings it over his shoulder whilst he turns, trying to spot something like a piece of paper or a napkin to write a thank you note before he leaves.

He comes up empty handed, though, and he stands facing the door where he assumes the bedroom is, biting his lip. He deliberates staying, but then realises he really doesn’t know who’s through that door, and what the person expects from him in return. 

So, he turns back around and heads towards the exit. He makes sure to unlock it softly, and twist the doorknob slowly as to not make any sound. But it’s not until the door is fully opened when something near it catches his eye. 

It’s a photo-frame, placed on a mantlepiece amongst candles and sunglasses. In it, is a picture of a family Zayn once knew all too well. It’s an old photo, judging by Louis’ hair, and Zayn assumes it’s before the accident. There’s Jay, Louis, Charlotte, Félicité, Daisy and Phoebe all huddled together on the steps of their house. Zayn swallows thickly, then looks back towards the bedroom door. 

He’s thankful, _joyous_ , even, that someone he knows had found him and taken him in when he needed it the most. But there’s also something unnerving about waking up on a couch in an apartment that belongs to the sister of the boy he’s avoiding. Because this must be Lottie’s apartment — and he thinks he vaguely remembers hearing her voice last night in the freezing cold. 

And he knows, if her opinion of him is anything like her mother’s, then Zayn’s got some giving back to do. 

With that in mind, he leaves. 

_Louis_

They arrive.

It’s early in the morning and none of them have slept but they’re here. The drive was long from Hillside, and now it’s the crack of dawn in the middle of Mistone, and they’re walking in the corridor towards Lottie’s apartment. 

They’d ridden on a high, after the phone call in the car. It’d been a miracle, for someone to have picked Zayn up out of nowhere, and Louis had felt his entire soul relax into something bearable. Liam started driving right away and the boys in the back were singing and it felt _good_. 

It wasn’t until tiredness hit them all and the mood was dimmed entirely from lethargy that Louis thought it’d be best to sleep. After all, Zayn was alive and found and _safe_ — but Louis couldn’t stop the bouncing of his leg, the biting of his fingernails.

“Okay, what?” Liam had asked in a whisper, aware of the two trying to sleep on one another in the back seat. “I feel like you’re gonna create a hole in the bottom of the car and bite your fingers to the bone.”

“I don’t know. Just…” Louis looked out the window at the beginnings of civilisation, everything before being stretches of land. The GPS on Liam’s phone hadn’t said anything else for some time, the only road a straight line. “What’s gonna happen, y’know?”

Liam hadn’t replied, then. He contorted his mouth to the side and dropped his gaze but remained silent, so Louis continued.

“Like, after all this? It’s like… We found him. Okay, great. What next, then? Are we supposed to just see him with our own eyes and then leave? Like, what if he doesn’t wanna talk? Is that the end?”

Liam shook his head, “Don’t think about it, yeah?”

Louis had snorted lightly, but nodded all the same. There’s no answer to the questions but they circle Louis’ mind more and more now as he stands out the front of Lottie’s door. He knocks twice, and turns to Harry, who raises his brows at him and smiles. The door unlocks and Louis’ eyes dart towards it. 

When it’s opened, Lottie stands there, smiling. It’s off-kilter, though, and she’s looking at Louis with something in her eyes Louis knows well. 

“Lottie.” Louis says as a greeting before pulling her into a hug. He tries to peep as much into the apartment he can, but it comes up empty. 

“Louis,” She says, the name coming out forced, almost, “Good to see you.” They pull apart and then Lottie nods, “Boys.”

They say their hello’s and Louis can’t help but notice they’re still in the doorway. “Can we come in, maybe?”

“Er,” Lottie dwells, then her eyebrows pull together, apologetic, “Before you do… I should tell you that, erm, well.” She scrunches up her face, “Zayn’s not… here.”

The words float through the air. Louis traps them and they resinate there in his mind, making him look towards the ceiling before squeezing his eyes shut, not even knowing where to begin. 

“He _was_ here, I swear.” Lottie adds quickly, “He was right there on my couch. But he must have woken up in between the phone call and the time I woke up because now—“

“He’s gone.” Louis finishes, monotone. 

“… Yeah.” Lottie cringes.

“How did you find him?” Niall asks her, voice sounding as dejected as Louis feels.

Before answering, Lottie welcomes them inside. Once they’re around the kitchen, Lottie closes the door without locking it and bites her lip as she walks towards them. 

“So, before I start, I’m just warning you that it probably won’t be the best story you’ll ever hear, yeah?” 

“ _Okay_ , Lots.” Louis sighs, without the energy to brace himself. He doesn’t know if anything else could shatter his optimism any more. 

“Well, I was walking back here after a night out when I saw Zayn. He was at a carpark just… sitting there.”

Louis presses his teeth together slightly, “Was he alone?”

Lottie nods, “Yeah. And at first I didn’t recognise him, and I wouldn’t’ve, if it weren’t for, erm, something. But once I realised who it was, I went over and—“

“Weren’t for what?” Louis asks, now aware of how hard he’s frowning. He tries to let up, but the way Lottie darts her eyes away makes it deepen. 

“I’ll… I’ll tell you later?” She asks, but doesn’t allow time for an answer. “Anyway, as soon as I went over I knew he was drunk. Like, on-the-verge-of-passing-out drunk.”

Louis lets out a puff of air as he hangs his head. He pictures Zayn drunk and alone, wandering the streets cold and lost before resigning to a carpark of all places. He shakes his head, “ _God_ , Zayn.”

“I don’t even know if he realised it was me, or if he was just following me because I told him to. Which, for me, is probably the scariest part about this. I could’ve been anyone, you know?” As she says it, Louis feels a hand come up to rest at the back of his neck, comforting. It helps dim the soreness of his chest, if only a little. “I took him here and he instantly just fell on the couch and was out like a light, and that’s when I called Harry. I thought for sure he’d still be asleep by the time you all got here.”

“He’s probably still _drunk_.” Louis realises aloud, sickness swirling. 

“Maybe.” Lottie says softly, “I don’t know—“

“Wouldn’t you think to stay with him for the night, then? Instead of going to sleep? What if he, I don’t know, happened to choke on his own vomit?”

He hears Harry behind him, cautious, “Louis—“

“Oh, hang _on_ ,” Lottie cuts in, “Are you blaming me right now?”

Louis shrugs, “You tell me. Is there anyone else here that let him go?”

Lottie’s eyes widen in disbelief. The hand on his neck disappears and a sigh of defeat is heard. Louis crosses his arms over his chest. Lottie points at him, “You’re in no position to get angry with me, thanks. _I’m_ the one who should be mad at _you_ , actually.”

“Me?” Louis asks, challenging. 

“Yeah! When were you gonna tell me that you suddenly rekindled an old flame, huh? I didn’t even _know_ you bloody knew about Zayn’s existence until Harry informed me this morning.”

“Cool it, love, nobody in the house knows except for mum.”

Lottie scoffs, “Well, lucky me!” 

“Are you done? Because at the moment there’s someone out there in a bad state—“

“Louis, christ, he’s twenty-one, yeah? He’s more than capable—“

“He’s not!” Louis steps forward, arms flailing, “He’s unstable! You said it yourself you found him drunk at a _fucking_ —“

The sound of the front door opening breaks off the rest of his sentence like a stick snapping in half.

Louis whips his head to the sound immediately. The door opens wide and Louis’ mouth falls open. 

Zayn stands at the doorway, paused. His eyes are alarmed as he takes in everyone before him. Inside, they’re all frozen. He looks terrible. His hair’s thrown up into a bun and his jeans look like they’re seconds from falling apart. The bags underneath his eyes are visible even from where Louis’ standing, and the lack of expression on Zayn’s face tells him that he’s more exhausted than anyone here. 

Louis takes him in like a breath, and feels his heart finally beat in time again. 

“You’re here.” He says after a silence that felt palpable. 

But Zayn doesn’t look at him, hasn’t looked at him, and instead, almost like he’s on auto-pilot, switches out of his shock and turns towards Lottie on the other side of the room. It’s not until the door’s closed and Zayn’s walking when Louis notices that there’s something in his hand. 

Lottie looks equally confused but elated when Zayn passes her the object and mumbles something Louis can’t catch. Lottie smiles at him in thanks and opens it. Louis watches on, and sees that what he gave her is a yellow cupcake — Lottie’s favourite. 

“How do you—?” She cuts herself off with a short chuckle, “How do you _remember_ that?”

Zayn gives her a half-smile and shrugs one shoulder. Louis feels like he should pinch himself to make sure that what he’s seeing right now is real and not something he’s made up due to his lack of reality and emotional trauma. But then Lottie’s locking eyes with Louis and her eyebrows rise and fall with a certain smugness in her gaze, telling him, “ _see_?” — and Louis realises this is indeed as real as it could get. 

“It’s good to see you, mate.” Liam pipes up, tone friendly. Zayn picks his head up from the sudden acknowledgement, eyes slightly wide. He looks towards him, but not for long before his eyes fall to the floor again. 

“Yeah,” He says, quiet. “You, too.”

Niall’s the first to break the barrier and step forward. Zayn looks at him, alert, even more so when Niall walks straight for him. Zayn instinctively turns away slightly, more towards Lottie, and Louis gathers it’s because Zayn thinks he’s about to be hit. Louis closes his eyes softly. He has to fix this. 

“So… are you,” Harry coughs to clear his throat, “Alright?” Louis doesn’t open his eyes to see Zayn’s response, and Harry keeps talking, “We, uh, we went to your house yesterday…”

As soon as Louis opens his eyes he finds Zayn looking at him. But his gaze drops immediately at Harry’s words, knowing what they would’ve seen in his backyard. 

Niall’s got his arms wrapped around Zayn’s middle while Zayn stands there, stiff, and Lottie’s to the side of him chewing happily away on her beloved dessert. So, when Zayn’s cheeks redden, it merely adds to the weirdness before him. 

“Yeah.” Zayn says again, “‘M fine.”

“Good.” Niall says immediately, then reaches up to kiss Zayn’s cheek. He unwraps himself from his middle and joins Lottie, trying to steal a bite but gets a slap on the wrist instead. 

Louis stares at Zayn. Zayn doesn’t stare back. 

He feels himself walking before his brain catches up but the closer he gets the tenser he sees Zayn become. It’s not until Zayn’s eyes are finally flicking up to meet Louis’ when Louis realises just how much fear resides within them. He’s certain Louis’ still mad. 

“Zayn,” He says, the word barely audible. Zayn blinks, then adverts his gaze elsewhere. Louis tilts his head down slightly to Zayn’s eye level. With a whisper, he tries to get his attention, “Oi, you.”

Something dances over Zayn’s features for a split second and it makes their eyes meet. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards shyly, not quite enough to reveal teeth but it’s balanced out with the glisten of his stare. 

Louis’ smile grows and he steps closer. There’s something inexplainable about how Louis sees him, now. He used to be a stranger, used to be someone that Louis had to try and figure out, someone who he quickly became fond of, and now, with the revelation that Zayn had been with him forever, throughout it all, Louis can’t help but feel like there’s a secure bond between them that cannot break however strong the pull may be. 

It’s satisfying, Louis thinks. Like placing the very last piece of a puzzle he’s spent years trying to complete. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Louis asks, tapping Zayn’s elbow with his hand. 

_Zayn_

They make it out of the building alive and onto the sidewalk outside. Zayn’s unscathed, Louis’ still got all his hair and neither of them want to rip the other apart. 

When he had entered into the apartment, he knew what was waiting for him behind that door. It wasn’t difficult to match the distinct voice that was shouting, and Zayn had stood there for longer than he’d like to admit, convincing himself to enter. He didn’t want Lottie to think he was bailing on her, didn’t want to just leave his present of thanks by the door, didn’t want Louis to blame his sister for something that was out of her control. 

And so he had tightened his jaw, stepped foot into the room, and immediately felt five pairs of eyes on him at once. He did everything in his power not to look at Louis. If he had, then he’d see the hate, the distain, the disappointment. He had only one task: thank Lottie for her kindness and, in turn, reveal himself to the people that think he’s disappeared.

What he hadn’t been prepared for is a koala in the shape of a Niall and nothing but relief falling over the room. It meant that Louis knew. It meant that Louis _knew_ , and still treated Zayn with gentleness. 

He definitely wasn’t prepared for that, either; all slow movements and searching eyes with soft words — “ _Oi, you._ ” — and Louis probably hadn’t even realised that was their thing. That’s how they had greeted each other before everything, and that hearing him say it flushed away any anxiety curdled up in his veins, letting himself be teleported back to a time where regret was only known as a temporary feeling affiliated with a late night. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” Louis asks. 

And Zayn’s automatically thrusted back to the present. A time where regret is a primary, underlying feeling forever at the pit of his gut, one that overwhelms him whenever it’s poked. It balloons in his chest. 

“I shouldn’t…”

Louis’ body softens at Zayn’s words. He places himself in front of him and his hands come up to rest lightly on both of Zayn’s arms. The contact is so sudden and nothing like how they've been with each other. But everything about it just reminds him of how they used to be and it's scary how easily he can go back there. 

“Zayn,” He says. His voice is so direct that it makes Zayn look at him. His eyes appear lighter in the sunlight, flecks of green and blue mixing together in a whirlpool that is calm. A truck sounds its horn in the background. Zayn tunes it out. “You’ve driven me recently, yeah? And we’re both still here, aren’t we?”

Zayn swallows thickly. He shakes his head as his gaze drops. “Louis, it’s not—“

“Hey,” Louis cuts in before Zayn’s doubt fills the air. But then Louis’ hand is on Zayn’s chin, tilting his head up, and Zayn sees everything. “I _trust_ you, okay?”

For some reason he waits for the moment to be broken, for whatever spell that’s been casted to vanish and for Louis to step away, laugh, and scold Zayn for being so gullible. Because Louis just told Zayn that he trusts him and Zayn thought it would’ve taken another lifetime for him to hear those words again. 

Which is why, as Louis waits for some kind of response, Zayn laughs. “But you have no idea who I am.”

Louis’ eyebrows pull upwards and he stares. “Really?” He says eventually, “D’you really want me to go all cliché and tell you all the things I _do_ know about you?”

Zayn snorts, humorous, but there’s a lump forming in his throat, “Please, no. Anything but cliché.”

It feels like a dream. The lack of sleep he's had could be making this up and he'd have no clue. Perhaps he's still drunk, perhaps he's lying somewhere, and this is all merely playing out in his head.

“Well, in _that_ case.” Louis says, then. He steps back and brings a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat dramatically before he begins, “I know how humble you like to act with all your talents—“

Zayn groans, realising what he's doing, “No.”

“I know how much you hate it when the spotlight’s on you—“

“Louis.”

“I know how you like to have your coffee,“

Zayn groans again, shooing Louis away. 

“Black, one sugar.” Louis grins, poking lightly at Zayn’s side, making him flinch, “I know you prefer the left side of the bed.” He pokes Zayn’s other side and Zayn traps his finger, “And how you look when you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts.” Zayn rolls his eyes, Louis just bops his nose. “I know how you look whenyou’re angry, sad, _wistful_ ,” Louis stops his movements and looks at him seriously, “That last one’s a _lot_ , by the way—“

“Shut up.” Zayn tells him, batting Louis’ hands away half-heartedly.

“I _think_ I know you’re ticklish,” Louis says, trying to get his hands near Zayn’s middle. Zayn blocks him with his own hands, and soon it becomes a fight that's all too familiar between them, ending with Louis grinning devilishly and Zayn backing away further and further before Zayn reaches a wall.

“ _Louis_ ,” He says, exasperated, finding himself smiling all the same. But Louis’ fingers never land, never poke him in the sides. Instead, his head falls to rest heavily on Zayn’s shoulder and then he’s hugging him, arms wrapped around Zayn’s torso, clutching at him in a hug that Zayn’s eyes shut at. He holds Louis’ head instinctively, fingers feeding through his hair and he holds him tighter, feeling his heartbeat against his own. 

“I hate you so much, you know.” Louis whispers, but doesn’t dare loosen his hold, “Why didn’t you just answer your fucking phone?”

Zayn squeezes his eyes together. When he releases, moisture falls. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“Bullshit.” Louis retorts, voice quieter than it should be, “You were afraid.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

Zayn allows a smile and lets the hand not holding Louis’ head run down Louis’ spine slowly before spreading it over the small of his back, holding him there. “I’m sorry.”

“Better be,” Louis mutters, words muffled by the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, “Don’t run off ever again, okay?”

He feels the weight of Louis press into his front, the scent of his hair and cologne mingling into one, the way his feet are planted to the sidewalk, how a wave of certain, individualised comfort he’s been longing for crashes into him at once — _I couldn’t_ , he thinks — “I won’t,” He says.

He hears Louis inhale deeply, shaky, before releasing his hold. Zayn feels the cold hit him instantly, their bodies no longer touching. Louis’ looking at the ground, biting his lip. Zayn can’t look away. 

“I am, too.” Louis admits, somewhat nervous, “Sorry, that is.” He fiddles with his hands before fixing his fringe, and sighs, “I should’ve… I don’t know. I feel terrible with how I went about— _everything_ , really.”

But Zayn’s already shaking his head, “Anyone would’ve reacted the same way. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Louis lets out a short whine, “Neither do you, though.”

This makes Zayn frown. He leans off the wall. “That’s not true.” 

But Louis doesn’t reply, just looks out onto the road, biting the inside of his cheek. His mind seems elsewhere. 

“Louis,” Zayn says, stepping forward. He gets Louis’ attention, and Zayn relaxes but his frown remains, “What exactly do you know?”

He can see his mind working, his face forever giving away his thoughts, and then he’s tilting his head towards the car they were at before, “C’mon,” He says, “I’ll drive.”

_

  
They end up at a carwash. Louis had felt bad that Liam’s car was dirtied from all the off-roads they went down, so of course Louis wanted to make it up to him. 

“It’s symbolic, too.” He tells Zayn as they park the car onto the conveyer belt.

“How?”

“Y’know,” Louis explains, waving a hand aimlessly through the air. He undoes his seatbelt, shifts in his seat, “A car. Us. Being cleansed and shit.”

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

Louis looks at him for what feels like the first time they both sat down, “Maybe?”

But the question is cut off by the sound of water hitting the car at all angles. It’s loud, but it encases them together, the realisation that they’re in a place they shouldn’t leave. It sounds like a rainstorm, and without direct light, Louis’ eyes look like clouds. 

“Why did you say I have nothing to be sorry for?” Zayn asks, the question nagging, biting. 

Louis halts for a second, then puffs his cheeks, letting the air out slowly. “It just— it feels like you got dealt a shit hand, you know?” 

Confusion casts over his features, “I was the one who caused the accident, Louis, you were put in hospital because of me—“

“But it wasn’t you.” Louis tells him, eyes alert as he shifts, facing him. The car rolls through, foam spraying out onto the windshield, masking it. “Yes, you drove. But did you even read the article? The truck was at fault, not you.”

Zayn tilts his head back onto the headrest, facing the roof of the car. He closes his eyes, feels the car roll forwards once more. The scrubbers hit the car at full force, echoing. 

“Zayn?” 

He waits until the sound leaves, until the car’s moving again. “I know what happened. I’m not letting you sit there and tell me that I wasn’t at fault.” 

Louis scoffs. Zayn pictures his expression at the backs of his eyelids. “And why the hell not?”

Water sprays from the jets. Zayn looks at him. “I did this to you.” He says, watching Louis’ face scrunch up, ready to argue, “And I can’t take that back.”

“If the roles were reversed, I know I’d never forgive myself either. But—“

“But the role’s aren’t _reversed_ , Louis.” Zayn tells him, a sudden wave of lethargy hitting him, eyes drooping with the sounds of an internal storm. “I’m here, healthy. And you’ve got this… damage you have to live with for the rest of your life. That’s not…” Zayn trails off, his throat sore. He brings a hand to his eyes, feeling the way they well up. He tries to regain his thoughts, but all he can think about is the way he left Louis there on the hospital bed, unconscious and forever injured. 

He feels a certain warmth over his hand, and soft fingertips peel it away from his face. Louis’ hand holds his own, and his eyes are like a mirror, redness around the edges and threatening to spill. 

“It’s okay.” Louis whispers, giving him a tiny smile. “I’m okay. It’s time to let it go.”

“But you were in a coma—“

He squeezes his hand, “And it’s okay now.”

“You couldn’t remember _anything_.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s okay.”

Zayn feels his bottom lip quiver. “You were lied to.”

Louis looks at him. Really looks at him. He brushes away an escaped tear underneath Zayn’s eye with his thumb and leaves his hand there, holding him. His smile returns, and outside is quiet. 

“It’s okay.” Louis tells him, and slides his hand to rest on the back of Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn nods. It’s weak, but it feels as though the resistance on his shoulders has been lifted, and suddenly holding his own is a new weight for him. He tries to return Louis’ smile but it wobbles, and Louis pulls him in, capturing him in a hug.

They’re both leaning and it’s awkward and off-kilter but they’re here. And it’s okay.


	18. Chapter 18

_Zayn_

The boys practically jump Zayn the minute he re-enters the apartment, arms stretched wide, inviting everyone into a proper hello. There’s shouts of joy and hair-rustling and Zayn gets stabbed in the hip with someone’s elbow, somehow, but the hurt holds no comparison to how his cheeks feel. 

They tell him over and over how much they love him and how glad they are that he’s back and Zayn hugs them like he would’ve the first time if he didn’t have to pretend.

“This is _so_ strange to watch, can I just say.” Louis comments from a distance. Zayn unhinges his head from underneath Harry’s chin and Liam’s arm, and spots him leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed with an amused expression on his face. 

He and Louis had stayed in the car for some time after they hugged. Louis told Zayn how he found out, how the boys all told him and how he reacted. Zayn told Louis what happened after Louis left, where he went and what he remembers doing. And Louis slapped him on the arm, after that, for “being so stupid”, and Zayn had only nodded in reply.

“You’re right.” Harry says with a grin. Louis’ expression drops instantly, dread and alarm replacing his nonchalance. Zayn looks at him, confused, but it all makes sense when Harry continues. “It’s time for… a Cuddle Puddle!” 

“No!” Louis shrieks, already trying to get away. But Harry crosses the room in seconds and Louis holds no contest in trying to bat him away. Harry picks him up, arms underneath Louis’ bum, and he walks him over to everyone with ease, despite the way Louis thrashes. “Unhand me!” 

Niall laughs loudly in Zayn’s ear and Liam cheers on as Louis reaches them, tugging him down from Harry’s hold to push him into the hug. It’s a terrible decision, because Harry’s clumsy and their positions aren’t stable and so when Louis comes down they all do too. 

Niall ends up on the bottom with Liam on top, carrying the weight of both Louis and Zayn. Somehow, Harry remains standing and he’s cackling like an evil genius, as though this is what he wanted all along. 

“Zayn, mate, I think your knee’s on me dick.” Niall chokes out, red-faced from laughter. 

Zayn looks down, and shifts himself to get up completely. Unfortunately, that is not what Harry wants.

“Cuddle Puddle!” He announces with glee, and stretches out his arms, charging forwards. 

“No, no, no!” Louis pleads, bracing himself. But soon enough Harry falls on all of them, eliciting a chorus of groans, all feeling the weight of Harry’s body. Zayn’s fairly sure his heart is filled to the brim.

The sound of a throat clearing makes them all quiet, and they tilt their heads up. Lottie’s there, peering over them with a bored expression, hands on her hips. Zayn thinks she’s about to scold them all for being so loud and disturbing the neighbours, or for damaging her floors somehow.

But all she does is blink, and ask, “Tea, anyone?”

_

  
With drained cups sitting on the coffee table, the six of them sit around on the couch and on the floor, miraculously fitting into the small apartment. Louis’ next to him on the couch, their thighs pressed against each other, their shoulders over-lapping and Zayn’s arm hanging over the back of the couch. Louis’ explaining a story about the time Liam threw up over a bouncer’s shoes and his hands are wild, continuously and accidentally brushing against Zayn’s leg. He’s animated, alive, and Zayn hasn’t stopped smiling.

Liam's groan fills the room from embarrassment at Louis’ story, face-palming, “It wasn’t that bad. You’re making it sound so much worse.”

Louis laughs in surprise, then falls back into the couch, leaning more into Zayn’s space, “Excuse me, Liam. I’m merely recounting the story as it happened.”

Niall chuckles next to Louis, sprawled out on the same couch. It’s no wonder Louis’ practically on top of Zayn. “Liam, you love to deny everythin’, I swear.”

With his mouth fallen open, he grabs the nearest thing he sees and throws it hard at Niall’s face. The pen hits him right between the eyes and falls on his lap. Niall glares at Liam, who’s sitting on the floor now with a wide grin. 

But then Lottie’s thumping Liam on the back of his head with her thumb and the grin’s replaced by a frown as he turns to her, rubbing his head, “Ouch.”

“Don’t throw my stuff.” She says. Harry cackles loudly.

It continues on — the fond memories, the endless banter, the way it feels like nothing's ever changed — and Zayn sits there taking it all in, hating that he’s missed it but loving how it’s playing out in front of his eyes in something that’s not a dream. It’s a déjà vu to how he felt seeing them all mill about in his house at Hillside, but this time they’re his friends, not faux-strangers; it’s real. It’s extremely real, and with the constant body warmth of Louis beside him, Zayn feels like he could wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him in, cuddling like they used to. 

“Sounds like the Doncaster night-life hasn’t changed much, then.” Lottie says from her chair, after hearing how a bunch of lads once got into a punch-on right in front of Harry because of a game of darts gone wrong. 

Niall laughs fondly, “Nup.” 

Louis turns to Zayn, then. Their faces close, and Zayn’s eyes lock onto Louis’ immediately. He has no idea how he’d spent years with no space between them, constantly touching and being with each other. It’s a fight within himself to not lean in, let the air that separates their faces vanish. And then Louis’ putting his hand lightly on Zayn’s thigh and it doesn’t help anything at all. 

“You should come back with me.” He says, eyes hopeful, searching. 

But before Zayn can open his mouth, say something stupid like, _I’d go anywhere with you_ , Lottie interjects with something that disrupts the Hollywood moment with a vicious sort of clarity. 

“That’s not a good idea, Louis.”

Louis frowns, hopefulness gone, and looks to his sister. The hand on Zayn’s thigh remains, “Why?” He questions, tone sharp. “Because of the police? Fuck ‘em!” Louis lifts his hands up as he exclaims. Zayn wants to grab one, hold onto it forever. “They’ve probably forgotten about the whole bloody thing anyway.” He looks to Zayn again, his hand finding Zayn’s knee. Zayn tries to not smile. “And you probably look a lot different to when you were eighteen, so you wouldn’t even be recognised.” He thinks for a moment as his eyes trail over Zayn’s face. Zayn swallows. “Actually, I know you do.”

Something in Zayn’s mind ticks, and he stares at Louis curiously, “How?”

It takes a second for Louis to understand what Zayn means, and then his face turns softer, frown leaving. “Oh,” He says, and looks down at his lap, “My, er, my mum has this huge box up in the attic that she showed me and it’s filled with, like…” He flits his eyes back up, Zayn tries to absorb the words, “all this memorabilia of us.”

Zayn lets his smile grow. He can only imagine the type of memories that are in there. He also relaxes slightly, knowing that in order for Jay to keep that, it means she doesn’t completely hate him. Baby steps, he thinks. 

“I’d love to see that.” He says. 

Louis returns his smile, and nods before whispering, “You will.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lottie continues, deterring Zayn and Louis from their bubble yet again, looking between them with slight scepticism and something else, “Back to the problem at hand.” Louis sits back in the couch with a huff, then crosses his arms over his chest. He looks bored, like whatever Lottie’s about to say won’t matter. Zayn looks at both the Tomlinson’s, his knee suddenly cold and his mind suddenly curious. Despite her brother, Lottie continues, “Louis, I know you don’t have a lot of education stored in your brain up there—“

“ _Hey_!”

“—but that’s not how the law works.” She locks eyes with Zayn, then. Zayn listens. “There are numerous things you can be charged with if you're caught.”

“Such as?” Louis asks with aloofness, though fear is transparent through his walls. Zayn wants to pull him into his chest, pet his hair, tell him it’s fine. 

“Well,” Lottie begins, then starts to count on her fingers. Zayn clenches his jaw in preparation. “Drug abuse, for one. Plus drug possession, driving under the influence, attempt at involuntary manslaughter—“

“S’hardly _manslaughter_.” Louis scoffs quietly.

“—reckless endangerment and, also,” Lottie gestures vaguely with her hand, “You know, running from the law.”

“…Shit.” Niall breathes, encapsulating the thought process of everyone in the room. 

Louis fidgets — fixes his fringe, pulls at his jeans, readjusts his position — there’s no masking the fact that he’ll need to walk off his frustration and worry. Zayn finally places a hand on his knee, anchoring him. Louis lets out a short sigh, then his body and mouth fall silent. 

Niall’s staring at the floor in front of him, eyes clouded with the emotion Zayn knows he should feel but fails to. Liam’s brows are pulled together, sad, and his mouth is twisted to the side as he thinks. Harry doesn’t allow himself to get upset, and instead is looking at Lottie intensely, brows covering his eyes in a frown. 

“Well, what can we do?”

Lottie nods, “There’s a few things. Depending on your lawyer, they can dispute the charges.”

“Can you be our lawyer, then?” Louis asks, “I doubt anyone here can afford a proper lawyer.”

Zayn bows his head as he allows a smile. _Our lawyer_.

“I’m only a paralegal,” She replies, “But I’ve got connections, I’ll ask around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “Okay.”

“So, what…?” Harry trails off, stopping to place his words. He lets a hand karate-chop the air minutely as he speaks, frown ever-present in concentration, words coming out slow, “What exactly can they dispute?”

“Well, things like whilst at the _time_ it was illegal to hold or smoke weed, it isn’t now. Also, Zayn didn’t mean to get into that car with the intention of potentially killing Louis.”

“No,” Zayn says, the word slipping out. Louis’ eyes are on him instantly. Zayn feels a hand cover his own. 

“You can actually defend that it was a mistake. And Louis can back you on that if he takes the stand.” Lottie informs. Louis squeezes Zayn’s hand. “And as for running from the law…” She drums her fingertips against her mouth as she thinks, “I suppose nobody knew that _you_ knew you were in trouble, right? I believe you only heard it from my mum and no federal bodies at all?”

“Uh,” Zayn clears his throat weakly, willing himself to remember. “Yeah, I think so. Yeah.”

“Great. So, who’s to say it wasn’t just convenient timing that you decided to go away?” She says with a forming grin, “You felt stressed about the whole situation and took off, completely unaware of what was waiting for you when you came back.”

“But…” Liam sits up straighter, “But that’s a _lie_. Aren’t you under oath or something?” 

“Yes, but if Zayn doesn’t want to go to jail it might be the only option. And even that still might not work, since you were driving with drugs in your system.”

“That can be let off as a license suspension and some like, probation, though. Right?” Louis asks, “Like, jail’s not _always_ the punishment, is it?”

Lottie just shrugs, “Like I said, it depends on the lawyer. Depends on the judge and the jury, too. Don’t you _love_ the judicial system?”

Niall laughs at the joke. It’s forced and it makes the room become tenser, somehow. With the hand not encased by Louis’, Zayn uses his fingernails to scratch idly at his jeans. He lets his chest rise and fall. Then he says to a silent room, 

“Jail wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He expects the eyes that dart at him immediately. Louis stares at him, offended, “ _What_?”

This time, it’s Zayn who fidgets. He scratches at his beard, licks his lips, “It’s… I did the crime.” He says, then looks at Louis, “I should do the time, too.”

“Ah, _no_.” Louis protests, turning to face him. He’s swivelled so much that his knee’s up on the couch and Zayn’s hand slips off, Louis’ hand now on the back of the couch near Zayn’s shoulder. His eyes are icy, ready to cut. “You shouldn’t.”

“I’ve gotta face the repercussions sometime—“

“Says who? Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the victim. Shouldn’t I get a say if you should be punished or not?”

Zayn sighs, “You can’t change law.”

“And you can’t change my mind!”

“Louis,” Harry’s voice breaks through, making the two of them turn their heads at him. He’s looking at Louis, eyes serious. “Don’t argue.”

 

_Louis_

He could argue until his voice runs out, his teeth break, his throat burns. He could protest it with everything he has, but he knew, then, that it wasn’t worth it. 

They’d changed the topic, said there’s time to think about it and to sort something out. Zayn had said jail-time wouldn’t be the worst thing. Louis had instantly thought of endless ways to get out of it, all of them ending in something he knew Zayn wouldn’t agree to. 

He and the boys had rented two rooms in a hotel — since, despite Lottie’s welcoming hospitality, she wasn’t keen on the five of them staying the night — and now they sit on the floor in one of the rooms that’s deemed to be Niall, Harry and Liam’s.

Thing is, they didn’t _say_ it was their room, exactly. But Louis’ dubbed it as theirs ever since they entered, labelling the other room they have as his and Zayn’s. Because, after all, they still need to discuss what happens after here. And because they have a lot of catching up to do. And because…

“Because Harry snores and Niall farts in his sleep.” 

Zayn huffs out a laugh, “Can’t say I deny that.” He lets his gaze wander over the three boys where they’ve situated themselves, unsuspecting of their whispered conversation. When he looks back at Louis, there’s a hint of mirth in his eyes. “What about Liam?”

“What _about_ Liam?” Louis asks, incredulous. “I could very well leave you here and he and I can have the other room, no worries. Would you rather that, Zayn?”

Zayn flits his eyes up from where he was staring at Louis’ mouth, and his lips press together, laugh threatening to spill. He shakes his head, “No.”

“It’s sorted, then.” Louis says, shifting his body to face the boys more. He knocks into Zayn’s arm and Zayn lets out a chuckle.

“What’s sorted?” Liam asks, eyeing them skeptically. 

“Ah, shit.” Niall says, rummaging through one of his bags for something, “Not even a full day of them makin’ up and they’re already plottin’ on us.”

“ _Actually_ ,” Louis points at Niall, “We’re not. So, I’d rather you and your wrong suspicions vacate elsewhere, Nail.” 

Zayn laughs openly as Niall flips Louis the finger. Zayn wraps an arm around Niall’s waist and pulls him closer, petting his hair. Niall falls to his side easily, and Louis uses this opportunity to flick Niall on the nose. 

“See!” Niall whines, blindly batting Louis’ hand away. 

“Louis was just saying that the other room will be his and mine for the night.” Zayn says calmly, and Louis immediately zeros in on Niall’s dirty expression. “And that this one can be all of yours.”

Harry lets out a telling sound beside Louis, followed by a low whistle. “Oh, yes, I’m _sure_ he di—“

“Curly!” Louis’ hand latches onto Harry’s mouth, but Harry just continues to wag his brows suggestively, “Has anyone told you how horrible your fucking breath smells?”

At that, Harry swipes his tongue across Louis’ palm. Louis gasps, and proceeds to tackle him to the ground. He calls on Liam for help but Liam only uses a hand to grab the back of Louis’ collar to pull him off, allowing Harry to no longer be under his hold. 

Louis lies on his back, facing the ceiling. His friends are all traitors. 

_   
  


It’s when the sun goes down that Liam kicks them all out. His eyes hurt from driving and nobody protests. It’s been an extremely long day, and Louis doesn’t think he’s gone without this much sleep in a very long time. He can see it in everyone’s faces, too, the exhaustion kicking in. 

And so he and Zayn leave, walking together down the hall to their room. Louis uses the keycard to get in and the door opens up to, thankfully, two beds. He doesn’t know how he’d cope if he were to sleep closely next to him. Sleep being the operative word. 

“What a day.” Zayn says, closing the door behind him. He lets his backpack fall to the ground and it hardly makes a sound. Louis drops his own duffle and it clatters. He drops himself onto the furthest bed with a sigh, feeling the mattress bounce underneath him. 

“Yep.” He replies. 

His eyes are closed, but he hears Zayn moving around the room, then into the ensuite, then into of the room again. When he opens them, Zayn’s getting into his bed, about to turn the light off. 

“Wait, wait.” Louis says, shifting so he’s halfway off the bed, rubbing his eyes, “Let me brush me teeth, then I won’t keep you much longer, I promise.”

He rummages through his bag. When Zayn talks next, Louis looks up and sees Zayn staring from being tucked up in bed, a small smile present. “You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” Louis exhales, his own smile appearing. He flits his eyes elsewhere and blinks, “Yeah, s’been a massive day.”

From leaving Doncaster on a whim to ending up here, a lot’s happened and Louis hasn’t had time to recharge at all. Doesn’t want to, really. He’d rather be awake and drinking in every moment then letting his eyelids place a blanket over the world he finally likes. 

He grabs his toiletries and enters the small bathroom. The room’s entirely basic. With the money between five of them, they could only afford the bare minimum. He’d paid for Zayn’s half, since he’s struggling as it is. And Zayn had argued — “You don’t have to, Louis—“ “Zayn, mate, where else are you gonna sleep? The streets? We’re gonna _have_ to get an extra room, so you might as well take one.” — and still had that ever-present look of gratitude whenever they shared a gaze. 

After he cleans his teeth, he half-runs to his bed, making Zayn chuckle lightly. He quickly gets underneath the covers and gestures with his hand, “Okay, go ahead. Sleep time.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, just reaches over to the lamp between them and switches it off, the room resulting in darkness. Louis instantly tries to will himself to sleep. He tries — but his mind’s lit up like a city, over-thinking everything he’s ever thought and unable to relax his muscles like he thought he’d be able to. He’s officially reached that point of over-tiredness. He’s wide awake. 

He shifts what seems like the twentieth time, and turns to Zayn’s unmoving, pliant body. Louis can’t see much, but he can make out the way Zayn lies on his back, his head turned towards him. Louis swallows, looks around the room. 

“Zayn?” He whispers, slightly hopeful. 

In the dark, Louis can’t see the small smile on Zayn’s lips, but he can hear it when he says, “Louis.”

“Can’t sleep either?”

“S’been, like, ten minutes.” Zayn tells him, then turns his body so he’s on his side, and their eyes lock, “But, yeah.”

Louis laughs, “You’d think we’d be out like lights right now.”

A hum comes from Zayn, “You’d think.”

The room falls silent, then. Zayn with nothing else to say and Louis trying to shut his eyelids and will himself to be taken to his dreams. He knows Zayn’s seconds from slumber, can hear it in the way his words are nothing but mumbles and how tired his eyes were before it went dark. And so Louis tries. 

It’s with great failure when he finally huffs out in defeat after changing his positioning in bed another three times. And it’s with a soft chuckle that Zayn announces he’s still awake, too. Louis instantly feels guilty. 

“Sorry.”

This time, Zayn shuffles in his bed. Louis’ not sure what he’s doing, but then he sees the covers being lifted up, mattress revealed to Louis, and he realises it’s an invitation. 

Louis shouldn’t go over there. 

But the room’s silent and Zayn’s arm's probably getting sore. 

Louis swallows, bites the metaphorical bullet, and walks over. 

He slides in next to Zayn and the duvet lands softly on him instantly. The bed’s smaller than they’re used to sharing, but Louis automatically feels more relaxed, less on edge. It’s most definitely the opposite of what Louis thought he’d feel. 

“You never have been good at sleeping alone, y’know?” 

Louis blinks at him. Close up, his vision’s adjusted slightly, making out the definition of his face, their close proximity. His words make Louis realise that Zayn would know. He’d know exactly how he sleeps alone, and how he sleeps with someone there. 

Louis bites his bottom lip in deliberation. When he talks, his voice is hardly audible. “How did we meet?”

He’s not even sure if Zayn remembers. It was years ago, something so insignificant at the time that it’s probably been overruled by everything else, that time in his life only reflected through stimulus.

“First year of school.” Zayn replies, only a few seconds delayed. Louis nods to himself, figuring as much. He opens his mouth, thinking that’s all Zayn’s about to say and readying another question, but it’s cut off. “I think it was the first week, actually. I was a bit of a loner and you were too, I think. But that’s because you were too loud.”

Louis gasps, “Too _loud_? I was five! Kids are supposed to be loud!”

Zayn’s grin follows and it lights up his face, “You scared people off.” 

“Oh.” Louis replies as Zayn laughs quietly. “Well, why were you a loner, then?”

“Too shy, I guess. I was also, like, bullied? Dunno if that’s really quite the right word…”

“Somebody bullied you? Seriously?” Louis rolls his eyes, “For, what, quietly keeping to yourself?”

“I cried on my first day when my dad left, so I basically made myself a target from there.” Zayn tells him nonchalantly. Louis just scoffs and rolls his eyes again. Kids. “But, uh, the main bully was sorta, like, talking down at me one day in the yard when I was sitting on a bench. He was standing there, like, calling me names and stuff and then,” Zayn allows himself a small snicker before he continues, “And then he just face-plants into the ground. Just like that. I remember being so shocked, and then I saw you, and you’re standing over him with your hands on your hips like some kind of superhero, so pleased with yourself.”

“What?” Louis asks, “I knocked the kid over?”

“You went down the slide behind him at full force and, yeah, resolutely knocked him.”

Louis lets out a shocked laugh and he can see the grin on Zayn’s face widening, “Oh, my god. And, so, from then on we became the bestest friends in the whole wide world?”

“Basically,” Zayn says, still grinning, “Yeah.”

Louis nods. Another question that’s been burning at the front of his mind burns deeper. He clears his throat but it's weak, not clearing anything. It resembles the way his mind's foggy. It's a strange thought. He twists his mouth, then bites another bullet. “ _Just_ best buds, then?”

“The best.”

He frowns, fiddles with the duvet. “I…” He clears his throat, “I find it hard to, like, believe that. If I’m honest.”

The silence that follows might as well be the sound of a heart shattering. “Oh.”

And Louis’ eyes widen, “ _Not_ like that. Not like that.” He shuffles closer, reaching out to touch but stops himself last second, “I just didn’t exactly think ‘ _friend_ ’ when I first saw you. If you, er, know what I mean.”

Zayn hums, like he's trying to understand. The frown on his face makes  Louis groans inwardly, frustrated that he’s even brought this up. It’s a defect from exhaustion, he’s sure of it. Saying shit before thinking. Though, that could just as well be a Tomlinson defect. 

But he blames it on the lack of sleep for what he says next, “I mean,” He sits up, still in darkness, and tries to articulate this in a way that won’t be weird, “You’ve got to be aware that you’re single-handedly one of the most attractive people on this planet, right? And I’d hardly think that being _that_ close to you for years that I wouldn’t have, like, made some type of move on you. Y’know?”

He awaits a chuckle in return, a sound of surprise, a shy word or two from the sudden compliment. But no words come and the air turns thick with awkwardness. Louis’ just proclaimed that he thought his childhood best friend was fit as fuck, and he’s met with silence. 

If aliens were to come to Earth, he wishes it’d be right now, and he’d be the first to be abducted. He imagines it’d be simpler, there. No accidental confessions he wishes he could take back. 

The worst of it, though, is the fact that Louis can’t see anything, even this close. He doesn’t know if Zayn’s shocked, confused, at a loss of words from bashfulness, or uncomfortable. All he can see is the outline of his head and the way his eyes are looking down. But, then again, when has he _ever_ been able to dissect Zayn’s train of thought from expressions alone? Darkness, in this case, is only the absence of light, not the mask of interpretation. 

“I mean,” Louis finds himself rushing out, knowing that if the dead air prolongs any longer, he may end up eating his own hand for something to do. “Unless I _did_ , and you awkwardly had to let me down.”

He laughs. It probably sounds awful to ears that aren’t his own but he can’t focus on that since all his blood is rushing to his cheeks. Who allowed hearts to escape to sleeves, anyway? They’re supposed to be locked up in rib cages, never to be released. It beats loudly, and he wills it to stop.

“Definitely not.” Zayn’s voice comes. It’s quiet, with a hint of a smile that Louis knows is added to soften the future blow. Louis nods, preparing. He hears the bed sheets move, and when he looks up, Zayn’s sitting. Their knees touch, and the silhouette of him is hard to make out, but the whites of his eyes act as a focal point, looking at Louis with something he wishes he could determine. “Louis, when I knew you…” Zayn looks down, focal point vanishing, but then he smiles for a second and a row of teeth replaces it, “You were still miles in the closet.”

Louis blinks. His eyes widen. He hadn’t, truthfully, ever thought about any aspect of his love life. He had woken up from his coma without a second thought that he was interested in men. There was no reason to hide, he hadn’t been taught the discrimination that he would later experience, or been conditioned to only think a certain way. He hadn’t even considered his sexuality to be anything other than this. 

“Oh, my god.” Louis says on a laugh. He continues it when he realises what this means. “So, when we met again, you thought…”

“Still straight.”

“ _Wow_.”

“Yeah.”

It sits between them. Louis shakes his head in disbelief. There’s so many things he has to figure out. There’s an entire Louis Tomlinson that he, himself, doesn’t even know. But Zayn does. 

“And you didn’t have a clue I was gay, then?”

Zayn shakes his head briefly but Louis catches the movement. A few seconds later, like an afterthought, Zayn adds, “You had girlfriends, so.”

Louis’ brows shoot up, “Girl _friends_? Plural?”

This time, Zayn lets out a laugh. “Yeah. Nobody’s told you this?”

“No, they haven’t. Which, really, isn’t all that shocking, to be fair.” Louis says, rolling his eyes as he plays with his fringe, “Never trusting those bastards again.”

Zayn smiles. It drops soon after, though, and Louis watches as Zayn draws pattens in the duvet with his finger. He clears his throat softly. “You didn’t know I wasn’t straight, either, though, back then. Niall knew. But I…” He pauses, then shrugs, “I kept it a secret from you.”

Louis’ frown immediately deepens, “Why?”

“’S’stupid, but. Thought it might scare you away.”

Stomach churning, Louis moves so he’s sitting closer to Zayn, knees just about overlapping. “Are you serious? Did I come off as unaccepting, or—?”

“No, no. Not that.” Zayn pauses for a moment or two, and Louis knows he’s struggling with the words. It’s like Zayn’s tossing it over in his mind countless times, and all Louis wants to do curl up to him, hold his hand. “The reason Niall knows…” He cuts himself off with a insincere chuckle, “I was young, and, like… you’re gonna laugh.”

“No,” Louis says, making Zayn’s eyes lock with his own. “I won’t.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and the anticipation shouldn’t be this heavy. 

Zayn sighs, then talks. “We were at a party. It was at a time when we weren’t that close, like, you’d be hanging out with the jocks and I’d be hanging out with the art geeks. Y’know, high school. It happens.” There’s a gap, and Louis suddenly realises he wants to listen to Zayn talk about their pasts forever, live through the sounds of his voice. “And you’d just arrived with your, er, girlfriend at the time, right? And I sorta didn’t like her?”

Louis snorts quietly, “You didn’t?”

“No, I,” Zayn rubs at his eye, then drops his hand, “I told Niall as much, too. Anyway, that night made me realise it’s because I liked you more than I thought. That’s _why_ I didn’t like her. And, like, why I also didn’t tell you?” He laughs shortly, as though Louis’ head hasn’t enlarged to the point of bursting. “But it was teenage hormones and whatever, like.” 

With the casualness of Zayn’s tone, Louis should probably feel like that’s the end of it. But Zayn had liked Louis more than he thought, back in high school. He can’t let that be the end of it. 

“You liked me?” Louis says with his mouth hanging dramatically wide afterwards. 

Zayn shrugs, “Niall said it was obvious at the time so, like, there you go.”

But Louis’ mouth has now turned into a beaming ray of light, he’s sure of it. “You liked me!”

“Fuck off, Lou.” Zayn mumbles, grabbing a pillow and shoving him with it. 

“You liked me, you liked me, you liked—“

He’s cut off by the feeling of something on his mouth. Momentarily, he’s stilled, breath caught in his throat. But then he realises that Zayn’s palm is over his lips, shutting him up, and he returns back to life. They lock eyes, and Louis thinks back to a few hours ago, and how his own palm had been the victim of someone's mouth. 

And he swipes his tongue over the skin, making Zayn release his hold with a groan. 

“You said you wouldn’t make fun.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Louis says, “I said I wouldn’t laugh.”

Zayn gives him a look that Louis can’t determine and shuffles so he’s lying down again, “Dunno why I did like you. You’re insufferable.”

Louis lies down, too, and they’re back in their original positions. He shrugs, then whispers, “Teenage hormones, and whatever.”

“Yeah.” Zayn agrees, “Something like that.”

“Well,” Louis says, reaching out on a whim and letting his arm rest on Zayn’s waist. He hears Zayn take in a sharp intake of breath, but Louis’ so suddenly tired he can’t find it in himself to react, “For the record, I definitely would’ve liked you back.”

He doesn’t allow himself to worry about it. The sentence holds no weight, anymore. Energy that’s been wasted on the day isn’t available to dwell on future regret, and instead he carries on blissfully — even without a reply — and scoots in closer until his nose is almost at Zayn’s neck, their chests just about touching. 

Louis smiles, “Goodnight, Zaynie.”

It’s not until Louis’ beginning to doze off when Zayn seems to wake up from something he was momentarily entranced in. He wraps an arm around Louis, reeling him in softly, letting their bodies touch more, and Louis’ lips brush lightly at the space between Zayn’s collarbones. 

“Night, Lou.”

He feels Zayn shift, and then he’s kissing Louis’ head. It only lasts a second, but it fills Louis with an amount of indescribable warmth it makes him wonder how he’s ever slept in any condition other than this. 

From there, he falls asleep and a little in love, one faster than the other.


	19. Chapter 19

_Zayn_

A blend of cinnamon and vanilla, with a hint of sweat that’s not his own. 

There are hairs tickling at his nose, just barely there but enough for the scent to be significant. Rhythmic fingers are stroking his spine, bumping over the bone delicately and only stopping as they reach the slight curve of his back before trailing up to the base of his neck. As Zayn’s coming to, he registers the warmth pressed against him, and his own fingertips swipe over the fabric of the body, making all motions stop still for a single moment. 

The hairs at his nose disappear and he opens his eyes. His vision is all but consumed by the brightness of the sun. But it soon dims, overtaken by the startling blueness of eyes, and Zayn wonders briefly how an eclipse could happen with the sea. 

He smiles, mind too hazy to think of anything else other than the forthrightness of the moment, and he lets his hand spread out over the boy’s back, “Oi, you.”

And Louis chuckles, creases appearing, before his head lies back down on the pillow, level with Zayn’s. “Oi, you.”

His voice is husky, but not like it usually is when he first wakes up with the absence of use. “How long’ve you been awake for?”

Louis shrugs, struggles to take his eyes off of Zayn’s, “‘Bout an hour or so.” Then, without a pause, “You slept like a _log_ , by the way. Didn’t move once.”

He sounds surprised. Zayn smiles at him lazily, “You’ve slept with me in my bed before.”

“Yeah, but you always tossed and turned, then.”

He hums, “S’pose I like where I am, now.”

Louis brings a smile, but rolls his eyes all the same. Zayn feels like tugging him closer, pressing their lips together. 

“The lads came here this morning,” Louis says, running his hand slowly over Zayn’s ribcage, nearing his naval. And Zayn’s suddenly no longer tired. “They’ve already gone back to Doncaster. Told me to tell you they’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, hating the way it comes out. He clears his throat half-heartedly, “When did you wanna leave?”

But Louis frowns, looking down at where his hand is tracing over Zayn’s skin, “We don’t have to go anywhere. We could stay here, forever,” He locks eyes with Zayn’s again and they’re impossibly brighter, a smile complimenting, “Like this.”

For emphasis, he wraps his arm around Zayn and pulls him in, making Zayn chuckle, “And what would we do?”

“We could make up for lost time.”

“In our lost time,“ Zayn says, looking at Louis' hand, “we never did this.”

Louis pulls away, but only to get a better look at Zayn’s face, his arm still firmly in tact, “Really? We never cuddled?”

Zayn looks at the sun, licks his lips. When he focuses back on Louis, flecks of colour dance on his face, “Sometimes.” He says, “But not willingly like this. Mostly when we were drunk.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Louis blinks, brows raised. They drop, though, and then he’s frowning again, thinking. “I really missed a chance back then and fucked up something special, didn’t I?”

There’s a hint of humour in his tone but the words make Zayn push up on his elbow, detaching them a little and making Louis look at him strangely. “You didn’t fuck up anything.” Zayn tells him, knowing that if Louis knew what they had, he’d think it was special enough, too. “Louis, if it weren’t for me—“

“ _Stop_.” Louis interrupts, expression open and soft. “Alright?” He mimics Zayn’s position, levelling them, and then Louis places his hand on Zayn’s shoulder, “At this moment, right now, you’re you and I’m me and regardless of anything that’s happened in the past, I’m happy.” He lifts his hand, presses a finger to Zayn’s chest, “Are you happy?”

Zayn’s lips tilt up into a small smile, certain that everything within him would fail at trying to conceal his delight, “Yeah. ‘M happy, Lou.”

“Good,” He replies resolutely, shifting so he’s lying back down, head on the pillow, “Then we’re happy together.” Zayn follows him and lies on his back, and Louis immediately curls into his side, cinnamon and vanilla reaching his nose with a leg trapping him in, and his fingertips continuing their patterns. “That’s good enough for me.”

_   
  


They’re sitting on the floor of a hotel room with boxes of Chinese between them and a TV on with a show playing that might just as well be white noise; the shitty signal giving them static and nearly indistinguishable audio. Zayn’s using chopsticks properly to eat his chicken and fried rice, whereas Louis’ eating at his dim-sim off one chopstick like a fork, soy sauce spilling off it and onto the container at his feet. 

“This was a much better idea than room service.” Louis says, words harder to make out than the character on-screen, but Zayn understands. 

He hums in agreement, “Way too expensive.” He says, then scrunches up his nose, “ _Fifteen_  pounds for a chicken kiev?” He shakes his head and leans back against the foot of the bed, “Forget it.”

“But ten pounds for a whole meal that may or may not give us food poisoning?” Louis says, a sly grin on his lips, “Sign me up!”

Zayn scoffs, “You won’t get food poisoning, your stomach’s too strong for that.”

Louis raises a brow in question as he sucks sauce off his thumb, “Hm? How so?”

“You once ate a deserted party pie we found on the school’s oval because I dared you to.”

Louis’ eyes go wide, then he laughs silently, mouth covered by his hands. Then he’s shaking his head and looking at Zayn with disbelief and amusement, “Grass and all?”

“Well,” Zayn shrugs, “You wiped it on your trousers and deemed it good to go, so, like. Nah? Probably no grass.”

Louis eyes the ceiling, tongue running over his teeth. They’d spent the morning in bed, cuddled up and talking softly about anything and everything that isn’t the knowing issue occupying both their minds. It wasn’t until one of their stomach’s cried for food that they languidly rolled out of bed, looking at menu options and classifying the cheapest selection to be the most desirable. They took turns having showers, and at almost-two in the afternoon, they’ve managed to go the day without bringing anything up. 

“Was that the worst of it?” Louis’ asking, eyes now on Zayn. “I feel like, as a child, I would’ve done some pretty terrible shit.”

“As a child?” Zayn says, a smirk appearing. He picks up some more rice, “You were fourteen when you ate that pie.”

“Fuck off,” Louis’ jaw meets the floor, but Zayn just nods. Louis groans, and pronounces each word slowly when he says, “What a _dumb_ arse.”

“You’ve also snorted wasabi at one point, too.” 

Louis blinks, expression blank. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, then turns so his body’s facing Zayn, “Why on _Earth_ were you friends with me? Like, solid question.”

“I dunno, Lou,” Zayn says, chuckling. He shrugs, “Just am.”

_

“I used to do it all the time.”

“ _All_ the time? What, are you a repeat offender, now?”

“Maybe,” Zayn says, looking at Louis, then cracks open the seal. 

Louis’ eyes widen before he’s throwing his hands up, making a sound as they slap back down onto his thighs, “Well, you’ve got no choice, now, have ya?”

Zayn just grins and shakes his head fondly before screwing the rest of the bottle top off. He hands it to Louis and Louis takes his without so much protest as a roll of the eyes. The bottle is only small, they never give much in hotels. But Louis still looks at it with a question, and also disgust. 

“Want me to sip it first?” Zayn asks. 

He earns a glare in response, and then Louis’ lifting the tequila to his lips, knocking it back. He pulls it away just as fast, his face scrunching up like he just sucked a lemon, and Zayn chuckles. He hands it to Zayn and Zayn takes it gingerly, taking his own shot. 

“How d’you know they won’t find out?” Louis asks, wiping his mouth. 

“Done it plenty times,” Zayn says with a shrug, “Besides,” He cocks his head towards the balcony in a question he doesn’t have to ask, and Louis nods in answer, “Don’t think a place that charges as much as they do for room service will care for a few tiny bottles of cheap alcohol.”

“A few?” Louis says with a laugh, taking the bottle as he stands, Zayn following, “How many do you plan on drinking, love?”

Louis instantly blinks with widened eyes at the sudden pet name and he turns his head towards the balcony, away from Zayn. Zayn’s unable to disguise his amusement, but doesn’t humour Louis’ embarrassment. He opens the sliding door, “Not sure, babes, how many d’you reckon we should have?”

As he steps outside, he looks back at Louis, and his smirk grows when he notices the slight pink to his cheeks. Louis looks at the ground with a small smile and shakes his head, raises his brows, then shrugs one shoulder. He joins Zayn outside, and shuts the sliding door behind him. 

“However many we feel like, I guess.” He settles on, then raises the bottle as though to cheers it, and Zayn forms his hand as though he was holding something, too, and they touch. Then Louis takes another shot. 

Their view isn’t great. The hotel room faces away from the city, showcasing the backstreets rather than main road. It’s still busy, with constant traffic and people; full of life. Zayn’s used to it, now. Although tonight it feels quieter. 

Louis passes the bottle and it’s almost about done. Zayn inspects it for a second, then finishes it. He feels a certain pair of eyes boring into the side of his face, and so he turns to them. 

“‘Nother one?” 

Louis’ lips form a line and there’s a slight frown. He looks to the bottle, then to Zayn’s face, “Aren’t you… like,” He cuts himself off, then his body sort of deflates as he becomes frustrated. “I mean, when Lottie found you, you were—“

“Stupid.”

“—Drunk.” Louis says, then sighs. 

Zayn knows how Louis reacted when he was told about how Lottie found him, and what Zayn had told him what happened that night. He had debated telling him how he’d been after the accident, and that he’s _better_ now. Though, seeing the way Louis’ worrying his lip in a way that he thinks is subtle, Zayn knows it’s something that doesn’t need to be said. Louis probably won’t let him touch a drop of alcohol for the rest of his life. 

“ _Lou_ eh,” Zayn coos, and sets the bottle down. He steps closer to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in to his chest as he continues to coo. Louis falls easily, but his arms remain at his sides, not hugging Zayn back, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Louis scoffs, but his head nuzzles further into Zayn’s neck. “Don’t I?”

The sarcasm is a veil Zayn knows well. He smiles, “Nope. ‘M a big boy.”

Louis hums, “Sure, y’are.”

Laughing, Zayn pulls away to look at him. He still looks resigned in his beliefs, jaw set, but his eyes betray him. Zayn places a hand on either side of his face, and Louis visibly softens. “I promise.”

Without a beat, Louis just looks at him expectantly, and raises a pinkie finger next to Zayn’s hand. Zayn’s heart bursts, but he instantly feigns seriousness and takes his hands off Louis in order to wrap his own pinkie around his best friend’s. They shake a few times, and then Zayn watches as Louis’ smile grows. 

“Okay, fine.” Louis says, “Another, then.”

Zayn nods, “Okay.”

Zayn enters the room and opens the fridge, taking out the small bottle of vodka. He fills up the empty tequila bottle with water from the tap and puts it back where they found it. He looks out at the balcony, finding Louis with his forearms resting on the barrier, deep in thought. 

He joins him, leaning next to him and mimicking his position. They both don’t say anything for a while, and as Zayn takes a shot of vodka and passes it to Louis, Zayn knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

Without looking at him, he says, “You know we have to go back sometime.”

But Louis doesn’t answer, and instead takes an impressively long swig of alcohol, before pulling back with his tongue poking out, “Ugh. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I might just hate this shit.” He inspects the label, “Is it possible that this could be made from _rotten_ potatoes?”

“Louis.”

Louis shifts his attention to him, and his eyes are a warning, “What.”

Zayn sighs, and lifts off the barrier to face him, “We gotta talk about it.”

And Louis huffs in resignation before shoving the small bottle to Zayn’s chest and folding his arms over his own, “I liked you better when I did all the talking.”

Zayn smiles at his shoes, teeth showing, “No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Louis rolls his eyes, “I hate that you know me better than I know you. Or, like, better than I know _meself_ , even.” He leans his back against the railing, flicks his fringe out of his eyes, “Who the fuck decided it was a good idea to give you all this power?”

“Dunno,” Zayn replies, then takes a shot, “But you’re still a hard book to read sometimes, I’ll give you that.”

A brow raise, then an elevator stare, “Oh, yeah? ‘Cause you’re one to talk, Mr I-don’t-know-what-emotion-is.”

A chuckle escapes from Zayn, and it makes Louis’ face soften, if only just. “God, I can’t believe how you acted towards me when you thought I was a complete stranger. D’you know how worried I was for you? Like, I could’ve been anyone.”

“Yeah, well, good thing I’m a great judge of character.”

This time, Zayn merely gives him a raised brow and a waiting stare. 

Louis sighs in defeat, “Okay, fine,” He takes the bottle from Zayn’s hand, “I’m shithouse at judging characters. Or judging a character. Character judging.” He finishes the bottle, “But you’re the hardest book to read, ever.”

Zayn frowns minutely, then starts to grin in amusement. A beat, then, “Are you drunk?”

“No!” Louis declines quickly, then huffs, “And if I _seem_ like it, it’s only because all I’ve eaten today is deep-fried nothingness.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, taking the bottle out of his hands in case Louis accidentally drops it and it ends up smashed on the concrete below, and places it near his feet.

“But, anyhow,” Louis says as Zayn stands. He follows the words with an extremely long sigh andsteps forward before poking Zayn in the chest, “Doncaster.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Zayn lets out a short laugh, “…Why?”

“Why can’t we stay here, forever, like I said?” Louis asks, but his eyes are on Zayn’s chest. His finger becomes replaced with the palm of his hand, “Why can’t we go someplace else? Like, Africa, maybe. Or Dubai.” His eyes meet Zayn’s, then, and there’s a certain spark when he says, “Paris.”

Zayn breathes in deeply, Louis’ hand following the movement. 

“I know we went there together.” Louis continues, “I saw photos in the attic of us there. You kept the ticket to the Eiffel Tower in your shed.”

“Louis…” Zayn brings his hand up to lace his fingers around Louis’ wrist. For some reason, he feels emotional. He’d want nothing more than to pack up and run away with him. “Your life is in Doncaster. And I…” He sniffs, looks away from the pleading eyes, “Running away doesn’t solve problems, like. I’ve learnt that. I gotta face it.”

But Louis shakes his head, “No…”

“It’s time, Lou. I’m ready.”

“ _I’m_ not!” He rips his hand away and he turns around. We walks a few paces but the balcony is so small he doesn’t get far. When he faces Zayn again, there’s a well in his eyes, “I just— I _just_ got you back.”

“I know,” Zayn says, forcing the words out. He closes the distance before placing Louis’ face between his hands again. “I know, but once this is all over you’ll be able to have me back for longer.”

Louis’ still pouting, bottom lip curled, and when he blinks his lashes become wet. It’s only then, that Zayn registers how close they are. 

But before Zayn can do anything about it, Louis’ looking at him and saying, “Forever?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, then nods without thought, “Yeah, forever.” 

But Louis merely hums in deliberation, the wind picking up and blowing bits of his fringe over his eyes. “Mm, I dunno if I believe you. You may be smart, Zayn. But you’re no future teller.”

There’s something in the way Louis says it, something in the way he just _is_. There’s also something in Zayn’s heart that makes it beat louder than it has to. It lurches out of his chest — and it’s the momentum that makes him lean forward. He’s tipped on an axis, and it leads him straight to Louis’ mouth. 

Zayn kisses him, gentle and short, but it’s enough to make Louis stand still. When Zayn parts, the atmosphere’s fuzzy. Louis’ eyes are slightly wide, the wetness on his lashes now a forgotten thought, and when Louis looks at him, his brows pull together, perplexed. 

“Was that…?” He tilts his head to the side, Zayn’s hands still holding him, “Was that a ploy to make me agree with you?”

Zayn’s mouth starts to pull into a grin, “Definite—“

His words are cut short with Louis’ lips on his own. It’s soft and delicate, like a new exploration, and Zayn shuts his eyes, melts into the way Louis’ hands clutch to the bottoms of Zayn’s shirt. Zayn brings one of his hands on Louis’ face to the back of his head, fingers feeding through his hair and Louis opens his mouth, the delicateness suddenly disappearing. 

_  
Louis _

It’d be better if Zayn snored. Or drooled. Or sweated really badly when he slept. Instead he looks like a made-up man of marble, the type of stone found from years of creation, perfected into something of smoothness yet sharp all the same. 

Louis has no clue about marble. But he knows that Zayn is god’s personal defect, because all humans are supposed to have a flaw. 

Louis might be a little in love.

He traces the arm that’s wrapped around his waist idly, watching in fascination how it creates goose-bumps underneath his touch. He traces up the arm, to the shoulder, then back down again. Part of him wishes he never sleeps again, so he can have these moments alone to admire marble. Another part of him wishes he slept as well as a rock, since moments alone tend to lead to mindless thinking that leaves him frightened. 

They could be going to Doncaster. Him and Zayn. And Zayn will be locked up, Louis knows he will. He doesn’t know how long for or where he’ll go but he knows Zayn will be eaten alive in there — and that thought alone is enough to send a sickness straight to his gut. 

He’s unsure of the time but he knows the sun had set not too long ago. It’s a few minutes later whenLouis decides to get up, get dressed, and leave the hotel with the key card in his hand. 

He crosses the street, gets buzzed up into the apartment, and ends up in Lottie’s kitchen, cups of tea on the bench and a waiting expression on her face. 

Louis just blinks at her, and shrugs in answer, “I just wanted to see you before we left. Y’know, it’s been so long, Lots…”

“Cut the shit.” She says with a sigh, “Just spit it out.”

“Jesus,” Louis says, blowing the air out from his cheeks, “The city’s changed you, man.” He gets nothing in response, and he fidgets in his seat. He plays with the tea bag label hanging out of his cup, then lets out a groan in defeat, “I don’t _want_ him to come home.”

“Yeah,” Lottie says, her previous demeanour shattering. She looks at the bench between them, her mouth turned downwards. “I know. But there’s no prolonging it, Louis.”

Louis plays with his bottom lip between his teeth before leaning forwards. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but he asks anyway, “Why not?”

Lottie swallows, “It’s what I wanted to tell you before. You know, how I said I’d tell you later?”

Louis nods. Lottie repositions herself, then clears her throat.

“Well, when I found Zayn… I didn’t just stumble upon him out of luck. The only reason I knew he was there was because these two men were standing by him, saying his name repeatedly, trying to get his attention, but he was passed out, unable to reply.”

Louis shuts his eyes.

“They recognised him, Louis.”

“They dobbed him in, then?” Louis whispers, voice hoarse. 

“No, not that I know of. I told them it wasn’t who they thought it was and to buzz off.” Lottie says. Louis opens his eyes. Lottie leans forwards, “The point is, they’re not the only ones that will know who he is. And people _will_ know. People from school, people who are friends with people from school, or literally anyone associated with Doncaster — they’ll all recognise him.” She shakes her head slowly, then leans back into her chair, “He’s just not safe, here.”

“So,” Louis begins, then clears his throat. His voice still comes out weak, but he ignores it, “What your saying is, we have no other choice, basically.”

She sighs, “I mean, if you decide to go on the run with the constant worry that anyone looking at either of your knows who you are for the rest of your life, then, sure. But, for longevity, you’ll have to do exactly what Zayn did when he went rogue. You’ll have to disconnect from your life entirely. That’s… It’s a huge ask, Lou. For both of you.”

Louis pauses for a moment, but then it hits him and he lets his face fall into his hands, “Ah, _god_. Why can’t things be easier, y’know?” 

“I know. It sucks.”

“I just wish we could live normally. Like, together. In Normalville”

He doesn’t get a response after a while, and so when he lifts his head from his hands, he’s half-expecting the face that meets him. 

“What?”

Lottie’s face brings a smirk, “There’s actual smarts behind that thick fucking brain of yours after all, I see.”

Louis jerks his head back, frowning, “What on Earth—?“

“You and Zayn. You’ve finally confessed your undying love, haven’t you?”

He feels like he’s been pinned down, unable to move. His face feels hot, too, and he hates it. He looks elsewhere, “No… not exactly.” He darts his eyes back at Lottie, hating the way her knowing smirk has only grown, “How the fuck could you possibly even know that, anyway?”

She shrugs, then sips her tea, “I’m just extremely good at reading people.”

“Bullshit.” He says.

“You’re right.” She agrees, “It’s the hickey on your neck that gave it away.”

Louis immediately places his hand over it. She throws her head back with laughter. 

_

  
This time it’s Louis who wakes up second. He wakes to the sound of the fridge door closing, and opens his eyes to see Zayn crouching near it, his back towards Louis.

“Wha’, are y’stealin’ the milk cartons, too, now?”

Zayn turns slightly, his smile on show. He stands up. He’s only wearing his briefs and a pair of socks. Louis’ eyelids droop at the sight, and he’s sure it’s a subconscious motion, something affiliated with the fact that his brain thinks he must be still dreaming. 

“Nah,” He says, lifting his hand to scratch idly at his beard, “Bought some water bottles and thought I’d keep ‘em cool.”

Louis frowns in amusement. He lifts his face slightly from where it’s buried in the pillow, “You left the hotel half naked?” 

Zayn shrugs, then starts to walk slowly towards him, “Figured if someone were to catch me, might as well catch all of me.”

With a laugh that’s disguised as a groan, Louis scrunches his nose. “No. What? Really?”

The mattress moves when Zayn sinks down onto it, his chuckles filling the room. “No,” He moves closer, and Louis lifts the blankets so he can slide next to him, “There’s a vending machine, like, a few rooms down.”

“Ah,” Louis says, then wordlessly tucks himself underneath Zayn’s arm, “Because why not spend money on water when we could have it at our free disposal, right here in this room?”

Zayn clicks his tongue, trailing his hand over Louis’ belly. 

“Did you know when you’re paying for a water bottle, all you’re really paying for is the plastic?” Louis continues, refusing to acknowledge how ticklish he is right now, “So, you basically just paid for shit all.”

He hears Zayn chuckle lowly, the sound close to his ear. It sends something down his spine. “You’re so weird.” He says, then presses his lips to the side of Louis’ head. “And I didn’t pay for it.”

Louis turns to him, and momentarily loses his train of thought when he finds Zayn’s gaze already staring at his lips, “What did you do? Did you mug the vending machine?”

Zayn smiles, “Yeah, something like that.”

He leans forward and kisses Louis delicately. Louis meets him, kissing him back. The hand on his stomach moves to the back of his head and Louis finds himself wrapping an arm around Zayn’s bare waist. Zayn presses in deeper and it makes Louis lean backwards, Zayn following.

He lies down and Zayn cups his jaw. Louis pulls Zayn on top of him and Zayn’s thigh slots between Louis’ own. He feels Zayn against him, already hard, and Louis runs a hand down his back, moving his hips upwards to meet him. 

Zayn detaches his mouth, allowing Louis to breathe a little easier, and reattaches his lips to the hickey on Louis’ neck, bitting lightly. 

Louis lets out a slight hiss at the pain and can feel a smile forming against his skin. Zayn lowers his mouth, kissing the space between his collarbones, before moving towards his nipples. He’s barely touched it with his lips when Louis breaks from suspense, from sensitivity, from all of it. 

But he knows now if he doesn’t speak soon, they’ll spend another night here and he knows it’s not what Zayn wants to do.

So he pulls lightly at Zayn’s hair, lifting his head up. Zayn balances himself on his elbows, either side of Louis’ chest, and looks up at him in question. _God_ , Louis thinks, _how could anyone say no to you_?

“I’ve decided.”

His voice is currently _not_ the most assertive it’s ever been and he thanks Zayn telepathically for not daring to mention it. 

Instead, he quirks a brow, “You’ve decided…?”

“That whatever you want to do, I’ll do it.”

Zayn studies him for a moment. It’s like he’s trying to determine what exactly he means and if he means it at all. That, added with Zayn very much on him, is everything to do with the fact that he feels as hot as a thousand suns and he is most definitely red in the face. 

“Mm?” Zayn hums, adjusting himself so he’s straddling Louis’ waist and slowly raising himself, “You wanna go back to Doncaster?”

He’s sitting on Louis’ hips and the weight of him makes it difficult to think properly. Zayn seems to know it, too, what with the way he’s looking at him with a certain glint to his eye. Bastard.

Louis attempts to clear his throat. He fidgets, like he does when he’s nervous, except his dick moves against Zayn’s arse and Louis has to watch the way Zayn’s pupils expand, filled with want, and has to pretend he doesn’t notice it. 

“Yeah.” He manages to say, slightly choked. 

Zayn only stares at him, but after a few seconds he starts to rotate his hips, moving over Louis’ cock ever-so-slowly, “Really?” He asks, and Louis struggles to hear him. “I can see in your face how hard that was to say.”

“Yeah, well, s’not _easy_.” Louis huffs, moving his hands without thinking so they brace Zayn’s hips, “Fuck. You’re literally sitting on my cock.”

Zayn leans forwards, stopping his movements, and cups Louis’ chin with his hand. They kiss for a moment, and then Zayn’s pulling apart, looking into Louis’ eyes. 

“You’re sure, though?” He asks, the brown of his eyes hard to distinguish with the over-powering black, “You’ll come with me?”

Louis swallows, then nods once. He squeezes Zayn’s hip, “Wherever you wanna go.”

Zayn smiles, teeth and all, and lets their noses touch. 

“Home it is, then.”

Louis brings one of the hands on Zayn's hip to cup his chin and pulls him closer. Louis' lips press into Zayn's smile and then Zayn's rocking forward, the motion of it making Louis sigh into Zayn's mouth. Last night, Louis had been equally as intoxicated by vodka and tequila as he was with the idea of Zayn kissing him that his mind was too hazy to fully comprehend his life from where he was - which was underneath Zayn as they were making out. 

Now, with his mind sober and very much here, he can't help the way his hips buck up desperately to meet him. 

Zayn lets his mouth kiss down Louis' jaw as his hand trails down his body and his hips don't stop circling over him. Louis seals his own mouth shut, the sounds coming out sounding like whimpers rather than the embarrassing breathy moans he knows would escape if he let them. 

"You're so much, babe." Zayn mumbles against the skin underneath Louis' ear, "Everything."

"Ugh," Louis takes Zayn's face between his hands and kisses him again, open and needy, and Zayn smiles against him still. "You're a happy thing, aren't you."

Zayn rests his forehead against Louis'. From here, Louis can only see the blackness of his pupils, vision slightly fuzzy. When Zayn nods, he can feel the movement, "S'usually what happens when your dreams come true."

"Oh, my god." Louis groans, scrunching up his nose. Zayn giggles, and a sound so innocent shouldn't be paired with the dirtiness of his mouth. "Who could've picked you as a sap, honestly."

Zayn leans back, and the extra pressure now on his dick makes him breathe in harshly. Then Zayn's tucking hair behind Louis' ear before kissing him on the nose. "Only for you."

" _Jesus_ ," Louis says, then manages to unhook Zayn's thighs and get him off, but not before Louis wraps his own leg around Zayn's hips and turning them, Louis now perched on Zayn's waist. "Enough of that talk."

Zayn just blinks at him, eyes wide with a grin filled with amusement. His gaze wonders to Louis' thighs, most of them exposed by his briefs but slightly covered by the baggy t-shirt, and Zayn's hands come up to grab at them, massaging slightly. "They weren't kidding when they said these were strong,"

Louis pulls his brows together, and starts to move his hips, revelling in the way Zayn's zeroing in on the movement. "Who?"

Zayn licks his lips, scanning over Louis' body before landing on his eyes, it takes a while before he's shaking his head, like he's just realised Louis asked him a question. "Never mind," He says, then tugs at Louis' shirt. "C'mere."

And Louis does.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://louiswmalik.tumblr.com/post/172123489090)


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